Betty Zane

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BETTY ZANE

CONFUSED AND YEXED, BETTY SANK. AT THE FOOT OF

THE TREE, Fr0nti*jitc< (P«g* M-

BETTY ZANE

BY

ZANE GREY

AUTHOB OP

THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT.
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE, DESERT GOLD. ETC.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY

LOUIS F. GRANT

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

Made ia the United State* «f America

COPYRIGHT 1903
• HARLBB FRAN CIS PRESS

Ail rights reserved

2512:

KM*

TO THE BETTY ZANE CHAPTER OP
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE REV
OLUTION THIS BOOK IS RESPECT
FULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR

NOTE

a quiet corner of the stately little city of Wheel

ing, West Va., stands a monument on which il

inscribed :

"By authority of the State of West Virginia.

to commemorate the siege of Fort Henry, Sept,

II, 1782, the last battle of the American Revolt

tion, this tablet is here placed."

Had it not been for the heroism of a girl the

foregoing inscription would never have been
written, and the city of Wheeling would never have existed.
From time to time I have read short stories and magazine
articles which have been published about Elizabeth Zane and
her famous exploit; but they are unreliable in some particu
lars, which is owing, no doubt, to the singularly meagre details
available in histories of our western border.

For a hundred years the stories of Betty and Isaac Zane
have been familiar, oft-repeated tales in my family — tales
told with that pardonable ancestral pride which seems inherent
in every one. My grandmother loved to cluster the children
round her and tell them that when she was a Jittle girl she
had knelt at the feet of Betty Zane, and listened to the old
lady as she told of her brother's capture by the Indian Prin
cess, of the burning of the Fort, and of her own race for life.
I knew these stories by heart when a child.

Two years ago my mother came to me with an old note
book which had been discovered in some rubbish that had
been placed in the yard to burn. The book had probably
been hidden in an old picture frame for many years. R
had belonged to my great-grandfather, Col. Ebenezef

triii Note

Kane* From its faded and time-worn pages I have taken the
main facts of my story. My regret is that a worthier pen
than mine has not had this wealth of material.

In this busy progressive age there are no heroes of the
kind so dear to all lovers of chivalry and romance. There
are heroes, perhaps, but they are the patient sad-faced kind.
of whom few take cognizance as they hurry onward. But
cannot we all remember some one who suffered greatly, who
accomplished great deeds, who died on the battlefield — some
one around whose name lingers a halo of glory? Few of us
are so unfortunate that we cannot look backward on kith or
kin and thrill with love and reverence as we dream of an act
of heroism or martyrdom which rings down the annals of time
like the melody of the huntsman's horn, as it peals out on a
frosty October morn purer and sweeter with each succeeding
note.

If to any of those who have such remembrances* as well
as those who have not, my story gives an houi of pleasure
I shall be rewarded

PROLOGUE

N June 16, 1716, Alexander Spotswood, Gov
ernor of the Colony of Virginia, and a gal
lant soldier who had served under Marl-
borough in the English wars, rode, at the
head of a dauntless band of cavaliers, down
the quiet street of quaint old Williamsburg.
The adventurous spirits of this party
of men urged them toward the land of
the setting sun, that unknown west far
beyond the blue crested mountains ris
ing so grandly before them.

Months afterward they stood on the western range of the
Great North mountains towering above the picturesque Shen-
andoah Valley, and from the summit of one of the loftiest
peaks, where, until then, the foot of a white man had never
trod, they viewed the vast expanse of plain and forest with
glistening eyes. Returning to Williamsburg they told of the
wonderful richness of the newly discovered country and thus
opened the way for the venturesome pioneer who was destined
to overcome all difficulties and make a home in the western
world.

But fifty years and more passed before a white man pene
trated far beyond the purple spires of those majestic moun
tains.

One bright morning in June, 1769, the figure of a stal
wart, broad shouldered man could have been seen standing on
the wild and rugged promontory which rears its rocky bluff
high above the Ohio river, at a point near the mouth of Wheel
ing Creek. He was alone save for the companionship of a
deerhound that- crouched at his feet. As he leaned on a long
rifle, contemplating the glorious scene that stretched before
him, a smile flashed across his bronzed cheek, and his heart
bounded as he forecast the future of that spot. In the river
below him lay an island so round and green that it resembled
I*

JK Prologue

a huge lily pad floating placidly on the water. The fresh
green foliage of the trees sparkled with glittering dewdrops.
Back of him rose the high ridges, and, In front, as far aa
eye could reach, extended an unbroken forest.

Beneath him to the left and across a deep ravine he saw
a wide level clearing. The few scattered and blackened tree
stumps showed the ravages made by a forest fire in the years
gone by. The field was now overgrown with hazel and laurel
bushes, and intermingling with them were the trailing arbutus,
the honeysuckle, and the wild rose. A fragrant perfume was
wafted upward to him. A rushing creek bordered one edge
of the clearing. After a long quiet reach of water, which
could be seen winding back in the hills, the stream tumbled
madly over a rocky ledge, and white with foam, it hurried
onward as if impatient of long restraint, and lost its indivi
duality in the broad Ohio.

This solitary hunter was Colonel Ebenezer Zane. He was
one of those daring men, who, as the tide of emigration
started westward, had left his friends and family and had
struck out alone into the wilderness. Departing from his
home in Eastern Virginia he had plunged into the woods, and
after many days of hunting and exploring, he reached the
then far Western Ohio valley.

The scene so impressed Colonel Zane that he concluded to
found a settlement there. Taking "tomahawk possession" of
the locality (which consisted of blazing a few trees with his
tomahawk), he built himself a rude shack and remained that
summer on the Ohio.

In the autumn he set out for Berkeley County, Virginia*
to tell his people of the magnificent country he had discovered.
The following spring he persuaded a number of settlers, of
a like spirit with himself, to accompany him to the wilderness.
Believing it unsafe to take their families with them at once,
they left them at Red Stone on the Monongahela river, while
the men, including Colonel Zane, his brothers Silas, Andrew,
Jonathan and Isaac, the Wetzels, McCollochs, Bennets, Met-
zars and others, pushed on ahead.

The country through which they passed was one tangled,

Prblogue xi

almost impenetrable forest; the axe of the pioneer had never
sounded in this region, where every rod of the way might
harbor some unknown danger.

These reckless bordermen knew not the meaning of fear;
to all, daring adventure was welcome, and the screech of a red
skin and the ping of a bullet were familiar sounds; to the
Wetzels, McCollochs and Jonathan Zane the hunting of In
dians was the most thrilling passion of their lives ; indeed, the
Wetzels, particularly, knew no other occupation. They had
attained a wonderful skill with the rifle; long practice had
rendered their senses as acute as those of the fox. Skilled
in every variety of woodcraft, with lynx eyes ever on the
alert for detecting a trail, or the curling smoke of some camp
fire, or the minutest sign of an enemy, these men stole onward
through the forest with the cautious but dogged and persis
tent determination that was characteristic of the settler.

They at length climbed the commanding bluff overlooking
the majestic river, and as they gazed out on the undulating
and uninterrupted area of green, their hearts beat high with
hope.

The keen axe, wielded by strong arms, soon opened the
clearing arid reared stout log cabins on the river bluff. Then
Ebenezer Zane and his followers moved their families and soon
the settlement began to grow and flourish. As the little vil
lage commenced to prosper the redmen became troublesome.
Settlers were shot while plowing the fields or gathering the
harvests. Bands of hostile Indians prowled around and made
it dangerous for anyone to leave the clearing. Frequently
the first person to appear in the early morning would be shot
at by an Indian concealed in the woods.

General George Rodgers Clark, commandant of the West
ern Military Department, arrived at the village in 1774. As
an attack from the savages was apprehended during the year
the settlers determined to erect a fort as a defense for the
infant settlement. It was planned by General Clark and
built by the people themselves. At first they called it Fort
Fincastle, in honor of Lord Dunmore, who, at the time of its
erection, was Governor of the Colony of Virginia. In 1776

Prologue

its name was changed to Fort Henry, in honor of Patrick
Henry.

For many years it remained the most famous fort on the
frontier, having withstood numberless Indian attacks and two
memorable sieges, one in 1777, which year is called the }Tear
of the "Bloody Sevens," and again in 1782. In this last siege
the British Rangers under Hamilton took part with the In
dians, making the attack practically the last battle of the
Revolution.

CHAPTER L

HE Zane family was a remarkable
one in early days, and most of its
members are historical characters.
The first Zane of whom any
trace can be found was a Dane of
aristocratic lineage, who was ex
iled from his country and came
to America with William Penn.
He was prominent for several
years in the new settlement
founded by Penn, and Zane
street, Philadelphia, beara his name. Being a proud and arro
gant man, he soon became obnoxious to his Quaker brethren.
He therefore cut loose from them and emigrated to Virginia,
settling on the Potomac river, in what was then known as
Berkeley county. There his five sons, and one daughter, the
heroine of this story, were born.

Ebenezer Zane, the eldest, was born October 75 1747, and
grew to manhood in the Potomac valley. There he married
Elizabeth McColloch, a sister of the famous McColloch
brothers so well known in frontier history.

Ebenezer was fortunate in having such a wife and no
pioneer could have been better blessed. She was not only a
handsome woman, but one of remarkable force of character
as well as kindness of heart. She was particularly noted for
a rare skill in the treatment of illness, and her deftness in
handling the surgeon's knife and extracting a poisoned bullet
or arrow from a wound had restored to health many a settler
when all had despaired.

The Zane brothers were best known on the border for their
athletic prowess, and for their knowledge of Indian warfare
and cunning. They were all powerful men, exceedingly act
ive and as fleet as deer. In appearance they were singularly
pleasing and bore a marked resemblance to one another, all

16 Betty Zane

having smooth faces, clear cut, regular features, dark eyes
and long black hair.

When they were as yet boys they had been captured b)r
Indians, soon after their arrival on the Virginia border, ariti
had been taken far into the interior, and held as captives fe^
two years. Ebenezer, Silas, and Jonathan Zane were the'i
taken to Detroit and ransomed. While attempting to swLa
the Scioto river in an effort to escape, Andrew Zane had bee'n
shot and killed by his pursuers.

But the bonds that held Isaac Zane, the remaining and
youngest brother, were stronger than those of interest *>r
revenge such as had caused the captivity of his brothers. • . 'e
was loved by an Indian princess, the daughter of Tarhe, tl
chief of the puissant Huron race. Isaac had escaped
various occasions, but had always been retaken, and at
time of the opening of our story nothing had been heard
him for several years, and it was believed he had been killed

A' the period of the settling of the little colony ii.
wilderness, Elizabeth Zane, the only sister, was living
an aunt in Philadelphia, where she was being educated.

Colonel Zane's house, a two story structure built of rou
hewn logs, was the most comfortable one in the settlement, *
occupied a prominent site on the hillside about one hundi
yards from the fort. It was constructed of heavy timber
presented rather a forbidding appearance with its -q
corners, its ominous looking portholes, and strongly
doors and windows. There were three rooms on the f
floor, a kitchen, a magazine room for military supplies,
large room for general use. The several sleeping room?
on the second floor, which was reached by a steep stairwa

The interior of a pioneer's rude dwelling did not reveai, as
a rule, more than bare walls, a bed or two, a table and a few
chairs — in fact, no more than the necessities of life. But
Colonel Zane's house proved an exception to this. Most in
teresting was the large room. The chinks between the lo ^
had been plastered up with clay and then the walls covr
with white birch bark; trophies of the chase, Indian bows r
arrows, pipes and tomahawks hung upon them; the *ide

Betty Zane

spreading antlers of a noble buck adorned the space above
the mantel piece; buffalo robes covered the couches; bearskin
nigs lay scattered about on the hardwood floor. The wall
on the western side had been built over a huge stone, into
vhich Jiad been cut an open fireplace.

i This blackened recess, which had seen two houses burned
over it, when full of blazing logs had cheered many noted
men with its warmth. Lord Dunmore, General Clark, Simon
Kenton, and Daniel Boone had sat beside that fire. There
Cornplanter, the Seneca chief, had made his famous deal with
-Colonel Zane, trading the island in the river opposite the
£|ttlement for a barrel of whiskey. Logan, the Mingo chief
•tfjnd friend of the whites, had smoked many pipes of peace
\ TC with Colonel Zane. At a later period, when King Louis
ilippe, who had been exiled from France by Napoleon, had
•me to America, during the course of his melancholy wander-
he had stopped at Fort Henry a few days. His stay
'e was marked by a fierce blizzard and the royal guesl
?d most of his time at Colonel Zane's fireside. Musing
those roaring logs perhaps he saw the radiant star of the
in of Destiny rise to its magnificent zenith.
brrxOne cold, raw night in early spring the Colonel had just
-turned from one of his hunting trips and the tramping of
cs mingled with the rough voices of the ner?o slaves
;i<jed without. When Colonel Zane entered the house he
freeted affectionately by his wife and sister. The latter,
e death of her aunt in Philadelphia, had come west to
MJB? ith her brother, and had been there since late in the pre-
jg autumn. It was a welcome sight for the eyes of a
i and weary hunter. The tender kiss of his comely wife,
t ue cries of the delighted children, and the crackling of the
fire warmed his heart and made him feel how good it was to
be home again after a three days' march in the woods. Plac
ing his rifle in a corner and throwing aside his wet hunting
-<y>at, he turned and stood with his back to the bright blaze.
:31 young and vigorous, Colonel Zane was a handsome man.
1, though not heavy, his frame denoted great strength and
endurance. His face was smooth; Lis heavy eyebrows met

18 Betty Zane

in a straight line; his eyes were dark and now beamed with
a kindly light; his jaw was square and massive; his mouth
resolute; in fact, his whole face was strikingly expressive of
courage and geniality. A great wolf dog had followed him
in and, tired from travel, had stretched himself out before
the fireplace, laying his noble head on the paws he had ex
tended toward the warm blaze.

"Well! Well! I am nearly star/3d and mighty glad to get
back," said the Colonel, with a smile otf satisfaction at the
steaming dishes a negro servant was bringing from the
kitchen.

"We are glad you have returned," answered his wife, whose
glowing face testified to the pleasure she felt. "Supper is
ready — Annie, biing in some cream — yes, indeed, I am happy
that you are home. I never have a moment's peace when you
are away, especially when you are accompanied by Lewis
Wetzel."

"Our hunt was a failure," said the Colonel, after he had
helped himself to a plate full of roast wild turkey. "The
bears have just come out of their winter's sleep and are un
usually wary at this time. We saw many signs of their work,
tearing rotten logs to pieces in search of grubs and bees' nests.
Wetzel killed a deer and we baited a likely place where we
had discovered many bear tracks. We stayed up all night
in a drizzling rain, hoping to get a shot. I am tired out. So
is Tige. Wetzel did not mind the weather or the ill luck,
and when we ran across some Indian sign he went off on
one of his lonely tramps, leaving me to come home
alone."

"He is such a reckless man," remarked Mrs. Zane.

"Wetzel is reckless, or rather, daring. His incomparable
nerve carries him safely through many dangers, where an
ordinary man would have no show whatever. Well, Betty,
how are you?"

"Quite well," said the slender, dark-eyed girl who had just
taken the seat opposite the Colonel.

"Bessie, has my sister indulged in any shocking escapade
in my absence? I think that last trick of hers, when she

BettyZane 19

gave a bucket of hard cider to that poor tame bear, should
last her a spell."

"No, for a wonder Elizabeth has been very good. How
ever, I do not attribute it to any unusual change of tempera
ment; simply the cold, wet weather. I anticipate a catas
trophe very shortly if she is kept indoors much longer."

"I have not had much opportunity to be anything but well
behaved. If it rains a few days more I shall become desper
ate. I want to ride my pony, roam the woods, paddle my
canoe, and enjoy myself," said Elizabeth.

"Well! Well! Betts, I knew it would be dull here for you,
but you must not get discouraged. You know you got here
late last fall, and have not had any pleasant weather yet. It
is perfectly delightful in May and June. I can take you to
fields of wild white honeysuckle and May flowers and wild
roses. I know you love the woods, so be patient a little
longer."

Elizabeth had been spoiled by her brothers — what girl
would not have been by five great big worshippers? — and any
trivia? thing gone wrong with her was a serious matter to
them. They were proud of her, and of her beauty and ac
complishments were never tired of talking. She had the dark
hair and eyes so characteristic of the Zanes; the same oval
face and fine features ; and added to this was a certain softness
of contour and a sweetness of expression which made her face
bewitching. But, in spite of that demure and innocent face,
she possessed a decided will of her own, and one very apt to
be asserted; she was mischievous; inclined to coquettishness,
and more terrible than all she had a fiery temper which could
be aroused with the most surprising ease.

Colonel Zane was wont to say that his sister's accomplish
ments were innumerable. After only a few months on the
border she could prepare the flax and weave a linsey dress-
cloth with admirable skill. Sometimes to humor Betty the
Colonel's wife would allow her to get the dinner, and she would
do it in a manner that pleased her brothers, and called forth
golden praises from the cook, old Sam's wife, who had beer
with the family twenty years. Bettj sang in the little churcl

20 Betty Zane

on Sundays ; she organized and taught a Sunday school class ;
she often beat Colonel Zane and Major McColloch at their
favorite game of checkers, which they had played together
since they were knee high; in fact, Betty did nearly every
thing well, from baking pies to painting the birch bark walls
of her room. But these things were insignificant in Colonel
Zane's eyes. If the Colonel were ever guilty of bragging it
was about his sister's ability in those acquirements demanding
a true eye, a fleet foet, a strong arm and a daring spirit. lie
had told all the people in the settlement, to many of whom
Betty was unknown, that she could ride like an Indian and
shoot with undoubted skill; that she had a generous share of
the Zanes' fleetness of foot, and that she would send a canoe
over as bad a place as she could find. The boasts of the Col
onel remained as yet unproven, but, be that as it may, Betty
had, notwithstanding her many faults, endeared herself to
all. She made sunshine and happiness everywhere; the old
people loved her ; the children adored her, and the broad shoul
dered, heavy footed young settlers were shy and silent, yet
blissfully happy in her presence.

"Betty, will you fill my pipe?" asked the Colonel, when
he had finished his supper and had pulled his big chair nearer
the fire. His oldest child, Noah, a sturdy lad of six, climbed
upon his knee and plied him with questions.

"Did you see any bars and bufflers?" he asked, his eyes large
and round.

"No, my lad, not one.**

"How long will it be until I am big enough to go?"

"Not for a very long time, Noah."

"But I am not afraid of Betty's bar. He growls at me
when I throw sticks at him, and snaps his teeth. Can I go
with you next time?"

"My brother came over from Short Creek to-day. He
has been to Fort Pitt," interposed Mrs. Zane. As she was
speaking a tap sounded on the door, which, being opened by
Betty, disclosed Captain Boggs, his daughter Lydia, and
Major Samuel McColloch, the brother of Mrs. Zane.

"Ah, Colonel! I expected to find you at home to-night.

Betty Zane 21

The weather has been miserable for hunting and it is not
getting any better. The wind is blowing from the northwest
and a storm is coming," said Captain Boggs, a fine, soldierly
looking man.

"Hello, Captain! How are you? Sam, I have not had the
pleasure of seeing you for a long time," replied Colonel Zane,
as he shook hands with his guests.

Major McColloch was the eldest of the brothers of that
name. As an Indian killer he ranked next to the intrepid
Wetzel ; but while Wetzel preferred to take his chances alone
and track the Indians through the untrodden wilds, McCol
loch was a leader of expeditions against the savages. A giant
in stature, massive in build, bronzed and bearded, he looked
the typical frontiersman. His blue eyes were like those of
his sister and his voice had the same pleasant ring.

"Major McColloch, do you remember me?" asked Betty.

"Indeed I do," he answered, with a smile. "You were a
little girl, running wild, on the Potomac when I last saw
you!"

"Do you remember when you used to lift me on your horse
and give me lessons in riding?"

"I remember better than you. How you used to stick on
the back of that horse was a mystery to me."

"Well, I shall be ready soon to go on with those lessons in
riding. I have heard of your wonderful leap over the hill
and I should like to have you tell me all about it. Of all the
stories I have heard since I arrived at Fort Henry, the one
of your ride and leap for life is the most wonderful."

"Yes, Sam, she will bother you to death about that ride,
and will try to give you lessons in leaping down precipices. 1
should not be at all surprised to find her trying to duplicate
your feat. You know the Indian pony I got from that fur
trader last summer. Well, he is as wild as a deer and she has
been riding him without his being broken," said Colonel Zane.

"Some other time I shall tell you about my jump over the
hill. Just now I have important matters to discuss," answered
the Major to Betty.

It was evident that something unusual had occurred, for

2% Betty Zane

after chatting a few moments the three men withdrew into
the magazine room and conversed in low, earnest tones.

Lydia Boggs was eighteen, fair haired and blue eyed.
Like Betty she had received a good education, arid, in that
respect, was superior to the border girls, who seldom knew
more than to keep house and to make linen. At the outbreak
of the Indian wars General Clark had stationed Captain
Boggs at Fort Henry and Lydia had lived there with him two
years. After Betty's arrival, which she hailed with delight,
the girls had become fast friends.

Lydia slipped her arm affectionately around Betty's neck
and said, "Why did you not come over to the Fort to-day?"

"It has been such an ugly day, so disagreeable altogether,
that I have remained indoors."

"You missed something," said Lydia, knowingly.

"What do you mean? What did I miss?"

"Oh, perhaps, after all, it will not interest you."

"How provoking! Of course it will. Anything or anybody
would interest me to-night. Do tell me, please."

"It isn't much. Only a young soldier came over with
Major McColloch."

"A soldier? From Fort Pitt? Do I know him? I have
met most of the officers."

"No, you have never seen him. He is a stranger to all
of us."

"There does not seem to be so much in your news," said
Betty, in a disappointed tone. "To be sure, strangers are a
rarity in our little village, but, judging from the strangers
who have visited us in the past, I imagine this one cannot
be much different."

"Wait until you see him," said Lydia, with a serious little
nod of her head.

"Come, tell me all about him," said Betty, now much in
terested.

"Major McColloch brought him in to see papa, and he
was introduced to me. He is a southerner and from one of
those old families. I could tell by his cool, easy, almost reck
less air. He is handsome, tall and fair, and his face is frank

BettyZane 23

and open. He has such beautiful manners. He bowed low
to me and really I felt so embarrassed that I hardly spoke.
You know I am used to these big hunters seizing your hand
and giving it a squeeze which makes you want to scream.
Well, this young man is different, He is a cavalier. All
the «:irls are in love with him already. So will you be."

"I? Indeed not. But how refreshing. You must have
been strongly impressed to see and remember all you have
told me."

"Betty Zane, I remember so well because he is just the man
you described one day when we were building castles and
telling each other what kind of a hero we wanted."

"Girls, do not talk such nonsense," interrupted the Colonel's
wife, who was perturbed by the colloquy in the other room.
She had seen those ominous signs before. "Can you find
nothing better to talk about?"

Meanwhile Colonel Zane and his companions vere earnest!^
discussing certain information which had arrived that day. A
friendly Indian runner had brought news to Short Creek, a
settlement on the river between Fort Henry and Fort Pitt^
of an intended raid by the Indians all along the Ohio valley.
Major McColloch, who had been warned by Wetzel of the
fever of unrest among the Indians — a fever which broke out
every spring — had gone to Fort Pitt with the hope of bring
ing back reinforcements, but, excepting the young soldier,
who had volunteered to return with him, no help could he en
list, so he journeyed back post-haste to Fort Henry.

The information he brought disturbed Captain Boggs, who
commanded the grarrison, as a number of men were away on
a logging expedition up the river, and were not expected to
raft down to the Fort for two weeks.

Jonathan Zane, who had been sent for, joined the trio at
this moment, and was acquainted with the particulars. The
Zane brothers were always consulted where any question con*
cerning Indian craft and cunning was to be decided. Colonel
Zane had a strong; friendly influence with certain tribes, an<3
his advice was invaluable. Jonathan Zane hated the sight oi
an Indian and except for his knowledge as a scout, or Indiau

24* BettyZane

tracker or fighter, he was of little use in a council. Colonel
Zane informed the men of the fact that Wetzel and he had
discovered Indian tracks within ten miles of the Fort, and
he dwelt particularly on the disappearance of Wetzel.

"Now, you can depend on what I say. There are Wyan-
dots in force on the war path. Wetzel told me to dig for
the Fort and he left me in a hurry. We were near that cran
berry bog over at the foot of Bald mountain. I do not be
lieve we shall be attacked. In my opinion the Indians would
come up from the west and keep to the high ridges along Yel
low creek. They always come that way. But, of course, it
is best to know surely, and I daresay Lew will come in to-night
or to-morrow with the facts. In the meantime put out some
scouts back in the woods and let Jonathan and the Major
watch the river."

"I hope Wetzel will come in," said the Major. "We can
trust him to know more about the Indians than any one. It
was a week before you and he went hunting that I saw him.
I went to Fort Pitt and tried to bring over some men, but
the garrison is short and they need men as much as we do.
A young soldier named Clarke volunteered to come and I
brought him along with me. He has not seen any Indian
fighting, but he is a likely looking chap, and I guess will do.
Captain Boggs will give him a place in the block house if
you say so."

"By all means. We shall be glad to have him," said Col
onel Zane.

"It would not be so serious if I had not sent the men up
the river," said Captain Boggs, in anxious tones. "Do you
think it possible they might have fallen in with the Indians?"

"It is possible, of course, but not probable," answered
Colonel Zane. "The Indians are all across the Ohio. Wetzel
is over there and he will get here long before they do."

"I hope it may be as you say. I have much confidence in
your judgment," returned Captain Boggs. "I shall put out
scouts and take all the precaution possible. We must return
now. Come, Lydia."

"Whew! What an awful night this is going to be," said

Betty Zane 25

Colonel Zane, when he had closed the door after his guests*
departure. "I should not care to sleep out to-night.53

"Eb, what will Lew Wetzel do on a night like this?" asked
Betty, curiously.

"Oh, Lew will be as snug as a rabbit in his burrow," said
Colonel Zane, laughing. "In a few moments he can build a
birch bark shack, start a fire inside and go to sleep com
fortably."

"Ebenezer, what is all this confab about? What did my
brother tell you?" asked Mrs. Zane, anxiously.

"We are in for more trouble from the Wyandots and
Shawnees. But, Bessie, I don't believe it will come soon. We
are too well protected here for anything but a protracted
siege."

Colonel Zane's light and rather evasive answer did not de
ceive his wife. She knew her brother and her husband would
not wear anxious faces for nothing. Her usually bright face
clouded with a look of distress. She had seen enough of In
dian warfare to make her shudder with horror at the mere
thought. Betty seemed unconcerned. She sat down beside
the dog and patted him on the head.

"T?ge, Indians ! Indians !" she said.

The dog growled and showed his teeth. It was only nec
essary to mention Indians to arouse his ire.

"The dog has been uneasy of late," continued Colonel Zanet
"He found the Indian tracks before Wetzel did. You know
how Tige hates Indians. Ever since he came home with Isaac
four years ago he has been of great service to the scouts, as
he possesses so much intelligence and sagacity. Tige fol
lowed Isaac home the last time he escaped from the Wyan
dots. When Isaac was in captivity he nursed and cared for
the dog after he had been brutally beaten by the redskins.
Have you ever heard that long mournful howl Tige gives out
sometimes in the dead of night?"

"Yes I have, and it makes me cover up my head," said
Betty.

"Well, it is Tige mourning for Isaac," said Colonel Zane,

"Poor Isaac," murmured Betty.

26 Betty Zane

"Do 3rou remember him? It has been nine years since you
saw him,'* said Mrs. Zane.

"Remember Isaac ? Indeed I do. I shall never forget him.
I wonder if he is still living?"

"Probably not. It is now four years since he was recap
tured. I think it would have been impossible to keep him that
length of time, unless, of course, he has married that Indian
girl. The simplicity of the Indian nature is remarkable. He!
could aasilv have deceived them and made them believe he was
content in captivity. Probably, in attempting to escape
again, he has been killed as was poor Andrew."

Brother and sister gazed with dark, sad eyes into the fire,
now burned down to a glowing bed of coals. The silence re
mained unbroken save for the moan of the rising wind out
side, the rattle of hail, and the patter of rain drops on the

CHAPTER H.

ORT HENRY stood on a bluff over
looking the river and commanded a fine
view of the surrounding country. In
shape it was a parallelogram, being
about three hundred and fifty-six feet
in length, and one hundred and fifty in
width. Surrounded by a stockade fence
twelve feet high, with a yard wide walk
running around the inside, and with
bastions at each corner large enough to
contain six defenders, the fort presented an almost impregna
ble defense. The blockhouse was two stories in height, the
second story projecting out several feet over the first. The
thick white oak walls bristled with portholes. Besides the
blockhouse, there were a number of cabins located within the
stockade. Wells had been sunk inside the inclosure, so that
if the spring happened to go dry, an abundance of good
water could be had at all times.

In all the histories of frontier life mention is made of the
forts and the protection they offered in time of savage war
fare. These forts were used as homes for the settlers, who
often lived for weeks inside the walls.

Forts constructed entirely of wood without the aid of a
nail or spike (for the good reason that these things could
not be had) may seem insignificant in these days of great na-
'val and military garrisons. However, they answered the pur
pose at that time and served to protect many an infant settle*
ment from the savage attacks of Indian tribes. During a
siege of Fort Henry, which had occurred about a year pre
vious, the settlers would have lost scarcely a man had they
kept to the fort. But Captain Ogle, at that time in charge
of the garrison, had led a company out in search of the In
dians. Nearly all of his men were killed, several only making
their way to the fort.

23 B e t t.y Z a n t

On the day following Major McColloch's arrival at Fort
Henry, the settlers had been called in from their spring plow
ing and other labors, and were now busily engaged in mov
ing their stock and the things they wished to save from the
destructive torch of the redskin. The women had their hands
full with the children, the cleaning of rifles and moulding
of bullets, and the thousand and one things the sterner tasks
of their husbands had left them. Major McColloch, Jonathan
and Silas Zane, early in the day, had taken different direc
tions along the river to keep a sharp lookout for signs of the
enemy. Colonel Zane intended to stay in his own house and
defend it, so he had not moved anything to the fort excepting
his horses and cattle. Old Sam, the negro, was hauling loads
of hay inside the stockade. Captain Boggs had detailed sev
eral scouts to watch the roads and one of these was the young
man, Clarke, who had accompanied the Major from Fort
Pitt.

The appearance of Alfred Clarke, despite the fact that he
wore the regulation hunting garb, indicated a young mail
to whom the hard work and privation of the settler were un
accustomed things. So thought the pioneers who noticed his
graceful walk, his fair skin and smooth hands. Yet those
who carefully studied his clearcut features were favorably im
pressed ; the women, by the direct, honest gaze of his blue eyes
and the absence of ungentle lines in his face ; the men, by the
good nature, and that indefinable something by which a man
marks another as true steel.

He brought nothing with him from Fort Pitt except his
horse, a black-coated, fine limbed thoroughbred, which he
frankly confessed was all he could call his own. When ask
ing Colonel Zane to give him a position in the garrison he
said he was a Virginian and had been educated in Philadel
phia ; that after his father died his mother married again, and
this, together with a natural love of adventure, had induced
him to run away and seek his fortune with the foardy pioneer
and the cunning savage of the border. Beyond a few months'
service under General Clark he knew nothing of frontier life ;
but he was tired of idleness ; he was strong and not afraid of

Betty Zane 29

work, and he could learn. Colonel Zane, who prided himself
on his judgment of character, took a liking to the young man
at once, and giving him a rifle and accoutrements, told him
the border needed young men of pluck and fire, and that if
he brought a strong hand and a willing heart he could surely
find fortune. Possibly if Alfred Clarke could have been told
of the fate in store for him he might have mounted his black
steed and have placed miles between him and the frontier vil
lage ; but, as there were none to tell, he went cheerfully out to
meet that fate.

On this bright spring morning he patrolled the road lead
ing along the edge of the clearing, which was distant a quar
ter of a mile from the fort. He kept a keen eye on the op
posite side of the river, as he had been directed. From the
upper end of the island, almost straight across from where he
stood, the river took a broad turn, which could not be observed
from the fort windows. The river was high from the recent
rains and brush heaps and logs and debris of all descriptions
were floating down with the swift current. Rabbits and other
small animals, which had probably been surrounded on some
island and compelled to take to the brush or drown, crouched
€n floating logs and piles of driftwood. Happening to glance
down the road, Clarke saw a horse galloping in his direction.
At first he thought it was a messenger for himself, but as it
neared him he saw that the horse was an Indian pony and the
rider a young girl, whose long, black hair was flying in the
wind.

"Hello! I wonder what the deuce this is? Looks like an
Indian girl," said Clarke to himself. "She rides well, whoever
she may be."

He stepped behind a clump of laurel bushes near the road
side and waited. Rapidly the horse and rider approached
him. When they were but a few paces distant he sprang
out and, as the pony shied and reared at sight of him, he
clutched the bridle and pulled the pony's head down. Looking
up he encountered the astonished and bewildered gaze from
a pair of the prettiest dark eyes it had ever been his fortune,
or misfortune, to look into.

10 Betty Zane

Betty, for it was she, looked at the young man in amaze
ment, while Alfred was even more surprised and disconcerted.
For a moment they looked at each other in silence. But
Betty, who was scarcely ever at a loss for words, presently
found her voice.

"Well, sir ! What does this mean ?" she asked indignantly.

"It means that you must turn around and go back to the
fort," answered Alfred, also recovering himself.

Now Betty's favorite ride happened to be along this road.
It lay along the top of the bluff a mile or more and afforded
a fine unobstructed view of the river. Betty had either not
heard of the Captain's order, that no one was to leave the fort,
or she had disregarded it altogether; probably the latter, as
she generally did what suited her fancy.

"Release my pony's head !" she cried, her face flushing, as
she gave a jerk to the reins. "How dare you? What right
have you to detain me?"

The expression Betty saw on Clarke's face was not new to
her, for she remembered having seen it on the faces of young
gentlemen whom she had met at her aunt's house in Philadel
phia. It was the slight, provoking smile of the man familiar
with the various moods of young women, the expression of an
amused contempt for their imperiousness. But it was not that
which angered Betty. It was the coolness with which he still
held her pony regardless of her commands.

"Pray do not get excited," he said. "I am sorry I cannot
allow such a pretty little girl to have her own way. I shall
hold your pony until you say you will go back to the fort."

"Sir!" exclaimed Betty, blushing a bright red. "You— •
you are impertinent!"

"Not at all," answered Alfred, with a pleasant laugh. "I
am sure I do not intend to be. Captain Boggs did not ac
quaint me with full particulars or I might have declined my
present occupation; not, however, that it is not agreeable just
at this moment. He should have mentioned the danger of
my being run down by Indian ponies and imperious young
ladies."

"Will you let go of that bridle, or shall I get off and wait

Betty Zane 31

back for assistance?" said Betty, getting angrier every m<v
ment.

"Go back to the fort at once," ordered Alfred, authori*
tatively. "Captain Boggs' orders are that no one shall b*
allowed to leave the clearing."

"Oh! Why did you not say so? I thought you were
Simon Girty, or a highwayman. Was it necessary to keep me
here all this time to explain that you were on duty?"

"You know sometimes it is difficult to explain," said Alfred,
"besides, the situation had its charm. No, I am not a robber,
and I don't believe you thought so, I have only thwarted
a young lady's whim, which I am aware is a great crime. I
am very sorry. Goodbye."

Betty gave him a withering glance from her black eyes,
wheeled her pony and galloped away. A mellow laugh was
borne to her ears before she got out of hearing, and again
the red blood mantled her cheeks.

"Heavens! What a little beauty," said Alfred to himself,
as he watched the graceful rider disappear. "What spirit!
Now, I wonder who she can be. She had on moccasins and
buckskin gloves and her hair tumbled like a tomboy's, but she
is no backwoods girl, I'll bet on that. I'm afraid I was a
little rude, but after taking such a stand I could not weaken,
especially before such a haughty and disdainful little vixen.
It was too great a temptation. What eyes she had! Con
trary to what I expected, this little frontier settlement bids
fair to become interesting."

The afternoon wore slowly away, and until late in the day
nothing further happened to disturb Alfred's meditations,
which consisted chiefly of different mental views and pictures
of red lips and black eyes. Jusr, as he decided to return to the
fort for his supper he heard the barking of a dog that he
had seen running along the road some moments before. The
sound came from some distance down the river bank and nearer
the fort. Walking a few paces up the bluff Alfred caught
sight of a large black dog running along the edge of the
water. He would run into the water a few paces and then
come out and dash along the shore. He barked furiously aD

8£ Betty Zane

the wiiDe. Alfred concluded he must have been excited by a
fox or perhaps a wolf ; so he climbed down the steep bank and
spoke to the dog. Thereupon the dog barked louder and
more fiercely than ever, ran to the water, looked out into the
river and then up at the man with almost human intelli
gence.

Alfred understood. He glanced out over the muddy water >
at first making out nothing but driftwood. Then suddenly
he saw a log with an object clinging to it which he took to be
a man, and an Indian at that. Alfred raised his rifle to his
shoulder and was in the act of pressing the trigger when
he thought he heard a faint halloo. Looking closer, he found
he was not covering the smooth polished head adorned with
the small tuft of hair, peculiar to a redskin on the warpath,
but a head from which streamed long black hair.

Alfred lowered his rifle and studied intently the log with its
human burden. Drifting with the current it gradually ap
proached the bank, and as it came nearer he saw that it bore
a white man, who was holding to the log with one hand and
with the other was making feeble strokes. He concluded the
man was either wounded or nearly drowned, for his movements
were becoming slower and weaker every moment. His white
face lay against the log and barely above water. Alfred
shouted encouraging words to him.

At the bend of the river a little rocky point jutted out a
few yards into the water. As the current carried the log
toward this point, Alfred, after divesting himself of some
of his clothing, plunged in and pulled it to the shore. The
pallid face of the man clinging to the log showed that he was
nearly exhausted, and that he had been rescued in the nick
of time. When Alfred reached shoal water he slipped his arm
around the man, who was unable to stand, and carried him
ashore.

The rescued man wore a buckskin hunting" shirt and leggins
and moccasins of the same material, all very much the worse
for wear. The leggins were torn into tatters and the mocca
sins worn through. His face was pinched with suffering and
one arm was bleeding from a gunshot wound near the shoulder.

Betty Zane 33

"Can you not speak? Who are you?" asked Clarke, sup
posing the limp figure.

The man made several efforts to answer, and finally said
something that to Alfred sounded like "Zane," then he fell
to the ground unconscious.

All this time the dog had acted in a most peculiar manner,
and if Alfred had not been so intent on the man he would
have noticed the animal's odd maneuvers. He ran to and fro
on the sandy beach ; he scratched up the sand and pebbles,
sending them flying in the air ; he made short, furious dashes ;
he jumped, whirled, and, at last, crawled close to the motion
less figure and licked its hand.

Clarke realized that he would not be able to carry the in
animate figure, so he hurriedly put on his clothes and set out
on a run for Colonel Zane's house. The first person whom
he saw was the old negro slave, who was brushing one of the
Colonel's horses.

Sam was deliberate and took his time about everything. He
glowly looked up and surveyed Clarke with his rolling eyes.
He did not recognize in him any one he had ever seen before,
and being of a sullen and taciturn nature, especially with
strangers, he seemed in no hurry to give the desired informa
tion as to Colonel Zane's whereabouts.

"Don't stare at me that way, you damn nigger," said
Clarke, who was used to being obeyed by negroes. "Quick,
you idiot. Where is the Colonel?"

At that moment Colonel Zane came out of the barn and
started to speak, when Clarke interrupted him.

"Colonel, I have just pulled a man out of the river who
says his name is Zane, or if he did not mean that, he knows
you, for he surely said 'Zane.' '

"What!" ejaculated the Colonel, letting his pipe fall from
bis mouth.

Clarke related the Circumstances in a few hurried words.
Calling Sam they ran quickly down to the river, where they
found the prostrate figure as Clarke had left it, the dog still
crouched close by.

"My God! It is Isaac!" exclaimed Colonel Zane, when he

34 BettyZanc

saw the while face. "Poor boy, he looks as if he were dead.
Are you sure he spoke? Of course he must have spoken fov,
you could not have known. Yes, his heart is still beating."

Colonel Zane raised his head from the unconscious manV
breast, where he had laid it to listen for the beating heart.

"Clarke, God bless you for saving him," said he fervently.
"It shall never be forgotten. He is alive, and, I believe, only
exhausted, for that wound amounts to little. Let us hurry."

"I did not save him. It was the dog," Alfred made haste
to answer.

They carried the dripping form to the house, where the
door was opened by Mrs. Zane.

"Oh, dear, another poor man," she said, pityingly. Then*
as she saw his face, "Great Heavens, it is Isaac! Oh! don't
say he is dead !"

"Yes, it is Isaac, and he is worth any number of dead men
yet," said Colonel Zane, as they laid the insensible man on the
couch. "Bessie, there is work here for you. He has beeij.
shot."

"Is there any other wound beside this one in his arm ?" askej/
Mrs. Zane, examining it.

"I do not think so, and that injury is not serious. It is low
of blood, exposure and starvation. Clarke, will you pleastt
run over to Captain Boggs and tell Betty to hurry hornet4
Sam, you get a blanket and warm it by the fire. That's right,
Bessie, bring the whiskey," and Colonel Zane went on giving
orders.

Alfred did not know in the least who Betty was, but, as he
thought that unimportant, he started off on a run for the
fort. He had a vague idea that Betty was the servant, possi
bly Sam's wife, or some one of the Colonel's several slaves.

Let us return to Betty. As she wheeled her pony and rode
away from the scene of her adventure on the river bluff, her
state of mind can be more readily imagined than described.
Betty hated opposition of any kind, whether justifiable or not;
she wanted her own way, and when prevented from doing as
she pleased she invariably got angry. To be ordered and
compelled to give up her ride, and that by a stranger, was

BettyZane 35

intolerable. To make it all the worse this stranger had been
decidedly flippant. He had familiarly spoken to her as "a
pretty little girl." Not only that, which was a great offense,
but he had stared at her, and she had a confused recollection
of a gaze in which admiration had been ill disguised. Of
course, it was that soldier Lydia had been telling her about.
Strangers were of so rare an occurrence in the little village
that it was not probable there could be more than one.

Approaching the house she met her brother who told her
she had better go indoors and let Sam put up the pony. Ac
cordingly, Betty called the negro, and then went into the
house. Bessie had gone to the fort with the children. Betty
found no one to talk to, so she tried to read. Finding she
could not become interested she threw the book aside and took
up her embroidery. This also turned out a useless effort;
she got the linen hopelessly twisted and tangled, and presently
she tossed this upon the table. Throwing her shawl over her
shoulders, for it was now late in the afternoon and growing
chilly, she walked downstairs and out into the yard. She
strolled aimlessly to and fro awhile, and then went over to
the fort and into Captain Bogg*s house, which adjoined the
blockhouse. Here she found Lydia preparing flax.

"I saw you racing by on your pony. Goodness, how you
can ride ! I should be afraid of breaking my neck," exclaimed
Lydia, as Betty entered.

"My ride was spoiled," said Betty, petulantly.

"Spoilt d ? By Wiiat — whom ?"

"By a toan, of course," retorted Betty, whose temper still
was high. "It is always a man that spoils everything."

"Why, Betty, what in the world do you mean? I never
heard yon talk that way," said Lydia, opening her blue eyes
in astonishment.

"Well, Lyde, Pll tell you. I was riding down the river
road and just as I came to the end of the clearing a man
jumped out from behind some bushes and grasped Madcap's
bridle. Imagine ! For a moment I was frightened out of my
wits. I instantly thought of the Girtys, who, I have heard,
have evinced a fondness for kidnapping little girls. Then

S6 Betty Zane

the fellow said he was on guard and ordered me, actually com
manded me to go home."

"Oh, is that all?" said Lydia, laughing.

"No, that is not all. He — he said I was a pretty little girl
and that he was sorry I could not have my own way ; that his
present occupation was pleasant, and that the situation had its
charm. The very idea. He was most impertinent," and
Betty's telltale cheeks reddened again at the recollection.

"Betty, I do not think your experience was so dreadful,
certainly nothing to put you out as it has," said Lydia, laugh
ing merrily. "Be serious. You know we are out in the back
woods now and must not expect so much of the men. These
rough border men know little of refinement like that with
which you have been familiar. Some of them are quiet and
, never speak unless addressed ; their simplicity is remarkable ;
Lew Wetzel and your brother Jonathan, when they are not
fighting Indians, are examples. On the other hand, some of
them are boisterous and if they get anything to drink they
will make trouble for you. Why, I went to a party one night
after I had been here only a few weeks and they played a
game in which every man in the place kissed me."

"Gracious ! Please tell me when any such games are likely
to be proposed and Fll stay home," said Betty.

"I have learned to get along very well by simply making
the best of it," continued Lydia. "And to tell the truth, I
have learned to respect these rugged fellows. They are un
couth; they have no manners, but their hearts are honest
and true, and that is of much greater importance in frontiers
men than the little attentions and courtesies upon which women
are apt to lay too much stress."

"I think you speak sensibly and I shall try and be more
reasonable hereafter. But, to return to the man who spoiled
my ride. He, at least, is no frontiersman, notwithstanding
bis gun and his buckskin suit. He is an educated man. His
manner and accent showed that. Then he looked at me so
differently. I know it was that soldier from Fort Pitt."

"Mr. Clarke? Why, of course !" exclaimed Lydia, clapping
her hands in glee. "How stupid of me !"

BettyZane 37

"You seem to be amused," said Betty, frowning.

"Oh, Betty, it is such a good joke."

"Is it? I fail to see it."

"But I can. I am very much amused. You see, I heard
Mr. Clarke say, after papa told him tiicre were lots of pretty
girls here, that he usually succeedcxi in finding those things
out and without any assistance. And the very first day he has
met you and made you angry. It is delightful."

"Lyde, I never knew you could be so horrid."

"It is evident that Mr. Clarke is not only discerning, but
not backward in expressing his thoughts, Betty, I see a ro

mance.'*

"Don't be ridiculous," retorted Betty, with an angry blush.
"Of course, he had a right to stop me, and perhaps he did
me a good turn by keeping me inside the clearing, though I
cannot imagine why he hid behind the bushes. But he might
have been polite. He made me angry. He was so cool and —
and "

"I see," interrupted Lydia, teasingly. "He failed to recog
nize your importance."

"Nonsense, Lydia. I hope you do not think I am a silly
little fool. It is only that I have not been accustomed to that
kind of treatment, and I will not have it."

Lydia was rather pleased that some one had appeared on the
scene who did not at once bow down before Betty, and there
fore she took the young man's side of the argument.

"Do not be hard on poor Mr. Clarke. Maybe he mistook
you for an Indian girl. He is handsome. I am sure you saw
that."

"Oh, I don't remember how he looked," said Betty. Sh<
did remember, but would not admit it.

The conversation drifted into other channels after this,
and soon twilight came stealing down on them. As Betty
rose to go there came a hurried tap on the door.

"I wonder who would knock like that," said Lydia, rising.
"Betty, wait a moment while I open the door."

On doing this she discovered Clarke standing on the step
with his cap in his hand.

S8 Betty Zane

"Why, Mr. Clarke! Will you come in?" exclaimed Lydia.

"Thank you, only for a moment," said Alfred. "I cannot
stay. I came to find Betty. Is she here?"

He had not observed Betty, who had stepped back into the
shadow of the darkening room. At his question Lydia became
so embarrassed she did not know what to say or do, and stood
looking helplessly at him.

But Betty was equal to the occasion. At the mention of
her first name in such a familiar manner by this stranger, who
had already grievously offended her once before that day,
Betty stood perfectly still a moment, speechless with surprise,
then she stepped quickly out of the shadow.

Clarke turned as he heard her step and looked straight into
a pair of dark, scornful eyes and a face pale with anger.

"If it be necessary that you use my name, and I do not see
how that can be possible, will you please have courtesy enough
to say Miss Zane?" she cried haughtily.

Lydia recovered her composure sufficiently to falter out:

"Betty, allow me to introduce "

"Do not trouble yourself, Lydia. I have met this person
once before to-day, and I do not care for an introduction."

When Alfred found himself gazing into the face that had
haunted him all the afternoon, he forgot for the moment all
about his errand. He was finally brought to a realization of
the true state of affairs by Lydia's words.

"Mr. Clarke, you are all wet. What has happened?" she
exclaimed, noticing the water dripping from his garments.

Suddenly a light broke in on Alfred. So the girl he had
accosted on the road and "Betty" were one and the same per-
r$on. His face flushed. He felt that his rudeness on that
^ccasion may have merited censure, but that it had not justi
fied the humiliation she had put upon him.

These two persons, so strangely brought together, and on
whom Fate had made her inscrutable designs, looked steadily
into each other's eyes. What mysterious force thrilled through
Alfred Clarke and made Betty Zane tremble?

"Miss Boggs, I am twice unfortunate," said Alfred, turning
to Lydia, and there was an earnest ring in his* deep voice-

BettyZane 39

"This time I am indeed blameless. I have just left Colonel
Zaae's house, where there has been an accident, and I was
dispatched to find 'Betty,' being entirely ignorant as to who
she might be. Colonel Zane did not stop to explain. Miss
Zane is needed at the house, that is all."

And without so much as a glance at Betty he bowed low
to Lydia and then strode out of the open door.

"What did he say ?" asked Betty, in a small trembling voice,
all her anger and resentment vanished.

"There has been an accident. He did not say what or to
whom. You must hurry home. Oh, Betty, I hope no one has
been hurt ! And you were very unkind to Mr. Clarke. I am
sure he is a gentleman, and you might have waited a moment
to learn what he meant."

Betty did not answer, but flew out of the door and down
the path to the gate of the fort. She was almost breathless
when she reached Colonel Zane's house, and hesitated on the
step before entering. Summoning her courage she pushed
open the door. The first thing that struck her after the bright
light was the pungent odor of strong liniment. She saw
several women neighbors whispering together. Major Mc-
Colloch and Jonathan Zane were standing by a couch over
which Mrs. Zane was bending. Colonel Zane sat at the foot
of the couch. Betty saw this in the first rapid glance, and
then, as the Colonel's wife moved aside, she saw a prostrate
figure, a white face and dark eyes that smiled at her.

"Betty," came in a low voice from those pale lips.

Her heart leaped and then seemed to cease beating. Many
long years had passed since she had heard that voice, but it
had never been forgotten. It was the best beloved voice of
her childhood, and with it came the sweet memories of her
brother and playmate. With a cry of joy she fell on her
knees beside him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Isaac, brother, brother !" she cried, as she kissed him
again and again. "Can it really be you? Oh, it is too good
to be true ! Thank God ! I have prayed and prayed that you
would be restored to us."

Then she began to cry and laugh at the same time in that

40 iiettyZane

strange way in which a woman relieves a heart too full of joy.

"Yes, Betty. It is all that is left of me," he said, running
his hand caressingly over the dark head that lay on his breast.

"Betty, you must not excite him," said Colonel Zane.

"So you have not forgotten me?" whispered Isaac.

"No, indeed, Isaac. I have never forgotten," answered
Betty, softly. "Only last night I spoke of you and wondered
if you were living. And now you are here. Oh, I am so
happy!" The quivering lips and the dark eyes bright with
tears spoke eloquently of her joy.

"Major, will you tell Captain Boggs to come over after
supper? Isaac will be able to talk a little by then, and he has
some news of the Indians," said Colonel Zane.

"And ask the young man who saved my life to come that
I may thank him," said Isaac.

"Saved your life?" exclaimed Betty, turning to her brother,
in surprise, while a dark red flush spread over her face. A
humiliating thought had flashed into her mind.

"Saved his life, of course," said Colonel Zane, answering
for Isaac. "Young Clarke pulled him out of the river. Didn't
he tell you?"

"No," said Betty, rather faintly.

"Well, he is a modest young fellow. He saved Isaac's life,
there is no doubt of that. You will hear all about it after
supper. Don't make Isaac talk any more at present."

Betty hid her face on Isaac's shoulder and remained quiet
a few moments; then, rising, she kissed his cheek and went
quietly to her room. Once there she threw herself on the bed
and tried to think. The events of the day, coming after a
long string of monotonous, wearying days, had been con
fusing; they had succeeded one another in such rapid order
as to leave no time for reflection. The meeting by the river
with the rude but interesting stranger; the shock to her dig
nity; Lydia's kindly advice; the stranger again, this time
emerging from the dark depths of disgrace into the luminous
light as the hero of her brother's rescue — all these thoughts
jumbled in her mind making it difficult for her to think clearly.
But after a time one thing forced itself upon her. She could

BettyZane 41

not help being conscious that she had wronged some one to
whom she would be forever indebted. Nothing could alter
that. She was under an eternal obligation to the man who
had saved the life she loved best on earth. She had unjustly
scorned and insulted the man to whom she owed the life of her
brother.

Betty was passionate and quicktempered, but she was gen^
erous and tenderhearted as well, and when she realized how un
kind and cruel she had been she felt very miserable. Her
position admitted of no retreat. No matter how much pride
rebelled; no matter how much she disliked to retract any
thing she had said, she knew no other course lay open to her.
She would have to apologize to Mr. Clarke. How could she?
What would she say? She remembered how cold and stern his
face had been as he turned from her to Lydia. Perplexed and
unhappy, Betty did what any girl in her position would have
done : she resorted to the consoling and unfailing privilege of
her sex — a good cry.

When she became composed again she got up and bathed
her hot cheeks, brushed her hair, and changed her gown for
A becoming one of white. She tied a red ribbon about her
throat and put a rosette in her hair. She had forgotten all
about the Indians. By the time Mrs. Zane called her for
supper she had her mind made up to ask Mr. Clarke's pardon,
tell him she was sorry, and that she hoped they might be
friends.

Isaac Zane's fame had spread from the Potomac to Detroit
and Louisville. Many an anxious mother on the border used
the story of his captivity as a means to frighten truant young
sters who had evinced a love for running wild in the woods.
The evening of Isaac's return every one in the settlement
called to welcome home the wanderer, in spite of the troubled
tiroes and the dark cloud hanging over them they made the
occasion one of rejoicing.

Old John Bennet, the biggest and merriest man in the col-
0^3% c^me m and roared his appreciation of Isaac's return.
He was a h\ige man, and when he stalked into the room he
made the floor shake with bis heavy tread. His honest face

42 Betty Zane

expressed his pleasure as he stood over Isaac and nearly
crushed his hand.

"Glad to see you, Isaac. Always knew you would come
back. Always said so. There are not enough damn redskins
on the river to keep you prisoner."

"I think they manged to keep him long enough," remarked
Silas Zane.

"Well, here comes the hero," said Colonel Zane, as Clarke
entered, accompanied by Captain Boggs, Major McColloch
and Jonathan. "Any sign of Wetzel or the Indians?"

Jonathan had not yet seen his brother, and he went over
and seized Isaac's hand and wrung it without speaking.

"There are no Indians on this side of the river," said Major
McColloch, in answer to the Colonel's question.

"Mr. Clarke, you do not seem impressed with your impor
tance," said Colonel Zane. "My sister said you did not tell
her what part you took in Isaac's rescue."

"I hardly deserve all the credit," answered Alfred. "Your
big black dog merits a great deal of it."

"Well, I consider your first day at the fort a very satis
factory one, and an augury of that fortune you came west
to find."

"How are you?" said Alfred, going up to the couch where
Isaac lav.

V

"I am doing well, thanks to you," said Isaac, warmly shak
ing Alfred's hand.

"It is good to see you pulling out all right," answered
Alfred. "I tell you, I feared you were in a bad way wher
I got you out of the water."

Isaac reclined on the couch with his head and shoulder
propped up by pillows. He was the handsomest of the
brothers. His face would have been but for the marks of pri
vation, singularly like Betty's; the same low, level brows and
dark eyes ; the same mouth, though the lips were stronger
and without the soft curves which made his sister's mouth so
sweet.

Betty appeared at the door, and seeing the room filled with
men she hesitated a moment before coming forward. In her

BettyZanc 43

white dress she made such a dainty picture that she Deemed
out of place among those surroundings. Alfred Clarke, for
one, thought such a charming vision was wasted on the rough
settlers, every one of whom wore a faded and dirty buckskin
suit and a belt containing a knife and a tomahawk. Colonel
Zane stepped up to Betty and placing his arm around her
turned toward Clarke with pride in his eyes.

"Betty, I want to make you acquainted with the hero of
the hour, Mr. Alfred Clarke. This is my sister."

Betty bowed to Alfred, but lowered her eyes instantly on
encountering the young man's gaze.

"I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Zane twice to
day," said Alfred.

"Twice?" asked Colonel Zane, turning to Betty. She did
not answer, but disengaged herself from his arm and sat down
by Isaac.

"It was on the river road that I first met Miss Zane, although
I did not know her then," answered Alfred. "I had some
difficulty in stopping her pony from going to Fort Pitt, or
some other place down the river."

"Ha ! Ha ! Well, I know she rides that pony pretty hard,"
said Colonel Zane, with his hearty laugh. "I'll tell you,
Clarke, we have some riders here in the settlement. Have you
heard of Major McColloch's leap over the hill?"

"I have heard it mentioned, and I would like to hear the
story," responded Alfred. "I am fond of horses, and think
I can ride a little myself. I am afraid I shall be compelled to
change my mind."

"That is a fine animal you rode from Fort Pitt," remarked
the Major. "I would like to own him."

"Come, draw your chairs up and we'll listen to Isaac's
story," said Colonel Zane.

"I have not much of a story to tell," said Isaac, in a voice
still weak and low. "I have some bad news, I am sorry to
say, but I shall leave that for the last. This year, if it had
been completed, would have made mv ter».fh year as a captive
of the Wyandots. This last period of captivity, which has
been nearly four years, I have not been ill-treated and have

44 BettyZane

enjoyed more comfort than any of you can imagine. Prob
ably you are all familiar with the reason for my long cap
tivity. Because of the interest of Myeerah, the Indian Prin
cess, they have importuned me for years to be adopted into
the tribe, marry the White Crane, as they call Myeerah, and
become a Wyandot chief. To this I would never consent,
though I have been careful not to provoke the Indians. I
was allowed the freedom of the camp, but have always been
closely watched. I should still be with the Indians had I not
suspected that Hamilton, the British Governor, had formed a
plan with the Hurons, Shawnees, Delawares. and other tribes,
to strike a terrible blow at the wlu'tes along the river. For
months I have watched the Indians preparing for an expedi
tion, the extent of which they had never before undertaken.
I finally learned from Myeerah that my suspicions were well
founded. A favorable chance to escape presented and I took
it and got away. I outran all the braves, even Arrowswift,
the Wyandot runner, who shot me through the arm. I have
had a hard time of it these last three or four days, living on
herbs and roots, and when I reached the river I was ready to
drop. I pushed a log into the water and started to drift over.
When the old dog saw me I knew I was safe if I could hold on.
Once, when the young man pointed his gun at me, I thought
it was all over. I could not shout very loud."

"Were you going to shoot?" asked Colonel Zane of Clarke.

"I took him for an Indian, but fortunately I discovered my
mistake in time," answered Alfred.

"Are the Indians on the way here?" asked Jonathan.

"That I cannot say. At present the Wyandots are at home.
But I know that the British and the Indians will make a com
bined attack on the settlements. It may be a month, or a
year, but it is coming."

"And Hamilton, the hair buyer, the scalp buyer, is behind
the plan," said Colonel Zane, in disgust.

"The Indians have their wrongs. I sympathize with them
in many ways. We ^*ive robbed them, broken faith with them,
and have not lived up to the treaties. Pipe and Wingenund
are particularly bitter toward the whites. I understand Corn-

Betty Zane 45

planter is also. He would give anything for Jonathan's scalp,
and I believe any of the tribes would give a hundred of their
best warriors for 'Black Wrind,' as they call Lew Wetzel."

"Have you ever seen Red Fox?" asked Jonathan, who was
sitting near the fire and as usual saying but little. He was the
wildest and most untamable of all the Zanes. Most of the
time he spent in the woods, not so much to fight Indians, as
Wetzel did, but for pure love of outdoor life. At home he
vras thoughtful and silent.

"Yes, I have seen him," answered Isaac. "He is a Shawnee
chief and one of the fiercest warriors in that tribe of fighters.
He was at Indian-head, which is the name of one of the Wyan-
dot villages, when I visited there last, and he had two hun
dred of his best braves with him."

"He is a bad Indian. Wetzel and I know him. He swore
he would hang our scalps up in his wigwam," said Jonathan.

"What has he in particular against you?" asked Colonel
Zane. "Of course, Wetzel is the enemy of all Indians."

"Several years ago Wetzel and I were on a hunt down the
river at the place called Girty's Point, where we fell in with
the tracks of five Shawnees. I was for coming home, but
Wetzel would not hear of it. We trailed the Indians and,
coming up on them after Hark, we tomahawked them. One
of them got away crippled, but we could not follow him be
cause we discovered that they had a white girl as captive, and
one of the red devils, thinking we were a rescuing party, had
tomahawked her. She was not quite dead. We did all we
could to save her life. She died and we buried her on the spot.
They were Red Fox's braves and were on their way to his
camp with the prisoner. A year or so afterwards I learned
from a friendly Indian that the Shawnee chief had sworn to
kill us. No doubt he will be a leader in the coming attack."

"We are living in the midst of terrible times," remarked
Colonel Zane. "Indeed, these are the times that try men's
souls, hut I firmly believe the day is not far distant when the
redmen will be driven far over the border."

"Is the Indian Princess pretty?" asked Betty of Isaac.

"Indeed she is, Betty, almost as beautiful as you are?" said

46 Betty Zane

Isaac. "She is tall and very fair for an Indian. But I have
something to tell about her more interesting than that. Since
I have been with the Wyandots this last time I have discovered
a little of the jealously guarded secret of Myeerah's mother.
When Tarhe and his band of Hurons lived in Canada their
home was in the Muskoka Lakes region on the Moon river.
The old warriors tell wonderful stories of the beauty of that
country. Tarhe took captive some French travellers, among
them a woman named La Durante. She had a beautiful little
girl. The prisoners, except this little girl, were released.
When she grew up Tarhe married her. Myeerah is her child.
Once Tarhe took his wife to Detroit and she was seen there by
an old Frenchman who went crazy over her and said she was
his child. Tarhe never went to the white settlements again.
So you see, Myeerah is from a great French family on her
mother's side, as this old Frenchman was probably Chevalier
La Durante, and Myeerah's grandfather."

"I would love to see her, and yet I hate her. What an odd
name she has," said Betty.

"It is the Indian name for the white crane, a rare and beau
tiful bird. I never saw one. The name has been celebrated
among the Hurons as long as any one of them can remember.
The Indians call her the White Crane, or Walk-in-fche-Water,
because of her love for wading in the stream."

"I think we have made Isaac talk enough for one night,"
«aid Colonel Zane. "He is tired out. Major, tell Isaac and
Betty, and Mr. Clarke, too, of your jump over the cliff."

"I have heard of that leap from the Indians," said Isaac.

"Major, from what hill did you jump your horse?" asked
Alfred.

"You know the bare rocky bluff that stands out prominently
on the hill across the creek. From that spot Colonel Zane
first saw the valley, and from there I leaped my horse. I can
never convince myself that it really happened. Often I look
np at that cliff in doubt. But the Indians and Colonel Zane,
Jonathan, Wetzel and others say they actually saw the deed
done, so I must accept >t," said Major McColloch.

"It seems incredible!" said Alfred. "I cannot understand

BcttyZane 4T

how a man or horse could go over that precipice and live."
"That is what we all say," responded the Colonel. "I sup
pose I shall Save to tell the story. We have fighters and
makers of history here, but few talkers."

"I am anxious to hear it," answered Clarke, "and I am
curious to see this man Wetzel, whose fame has reached as far
as my home, way down in Virginia."

"You will have your wish gratified soon, I have no doubt,"
resumed the Colonel. "Well, now for the story of McColloch's
mad ride for life and his wonderful leap down Wheeling hill.
A year ago, when the fort was besieged by the Indians, the
Major got through the lines and made off for Short Creek.
He returned next morning with forty mounted men. They
marched boldly up to the gate, and all succeeded in getting
inside save the gallant Major, who had waited to be the last
man to go in. Finding it impossible to make the short dis
tance without going under the fire of the Indians, who had
rushed up to prevent the relief party from entering the fort,
he wheeled his big stallion, and, followed by the yelling band
of savages, he took the road leading around back of the fort
to the top of the bluff. The road lay along the edge of the
cliff and I saw the Major turn and wave his rifle at us, evi
dently with the desire of assuring us that he was safe. Sud
denly, on the very summit of the hill, he reined in his horse
as if undecided. I knew in an instant what had happened.
The Major had run right, into the returning party of Indians,
which had been sent out to intercept our reinforcements. In
a moment more we heard the exultant yells of the savages, and
saw them gliding from tree to tree, slowly lengthening out
their line and surrounding the unfortunate Major. They did
not fire a shot. We in the fort were stupefied with horror, and
stood helplessly with our useless guns, watching and wait
ing for the seemingly inevitable doom of our comrade. Not
so with the Major! Knowing that he was a marked man by
the Indians and feeling that any death was preferable to the
gauntlet, the knife, the stake and torch of the merciless sav
age, he had grasped at a desperate chance. He saw his enemies
stealthily darting from rock to tree, and tree to bush, creep-

48 BettyZane

ing through the brush, and slipping closer and closer every
moment. On three sides were his hated foes and on the re
maining side — the abyss. Without a moment 'P \esitation the
intrepid Major spurred his horse at the precipice. Never
shall I forget that thrilling moment. The three hundred
savage^ were silent as they realized the Major's intention.
Those in the fort watched with staring eyes. A few bounds*
and the noble steed reared high on his hind legs. .Outlined by
the clear blue sky the magnificent animal stood for one brief
instant, his black mane flying in the wind, his head thrown
up and his front hoofs pawing the air like Marcus Curtius'
mailed steed of old, and then down with a crash, a cloud of
dust, and the crackling of pine limbs. A long yell went up
from the Indians below, while those above ran to the edge of
the cliff. With cries of wonder and baffled vengeance they
gesticulated toward the dark ravine into which horse and rider
had plunged rather than wait to meet a more cruel death.
The precipice at this point is over three hundred feet in
height, and in places is almost perpendicular. We believed
the Major to be lying crushed and mangled on the rocks.
Imagine our frenzy of joy when we saw the daring soldier
and his horse dash out of the bushes that skirt the base of the
cliff, cross the creek, and come galloping to the fort in safety."

"It was wonderful ! Wonderful !" exclaimed Isaac, his
eyes glistening. "No wonder the Indians call you the 'Fly
ing chief.' :

"Had the Major not jumped into the clump of pine trees
which grow thickly some thirty feet below the summit he
would not now be alive," said Colonel Zane. "I am certain
of that. Nevertheless that does not detract from +he courage
of his deed. He had no time to pick out the best place to
jump. He simply took his one chance, and came out all right.
That leap will live in the minds of men as long as yonder
bluff stands a monument to McColloch's ride for life."

Alfred had listened with intense interest to the Colonel's
recital. When it ended, although his pulses quickened and
his soul expanded with awe and reverence for the hero of that
tide, he sat silent. Alfred honored courage in a man more

BettyZane 49

than any other quality. He marvelled at the simplicity of
these bordermen who, he thought, took the most wonderful
adventures and daring escapes as a matter of course, a com
pulsory part of their daily lives. He had already, in one
day, had more excitement than had ever befallen him ; and
was beginning to believe his thirst for a free life of stirring
action would be quenched long before he had learned to become
useful in his new sphere. During the remaining half hour
of his call on his lately acquired friends, he took little part in
the conversation, but sat quietly watching the changeful ex
pressions on Betty's face, and listening to Colonel Zane's
jokes. When he rose to go he bade his host good-night, and
expressed a wish that Isaac, who had fallen asleep, might
have a speedy recovery. He turned toward the door to find
that Betty had intercepted him.

"Mr. Clarke," she said, extending a little hand that trem
bled slightly. "I wish to say — that — I want to say that my
feelings have changed. I am sorry for what I said over at
Lydia's. I spoke hastily and rudely. You have saved my
brother's life. I will be forever grateful to you. It is useless
to try to thank you. I — I hope we may be friends."

Alfred found it desperately hard to resist that low voice,
and those dnrk eves which were raised shyly, yet bravely, to
his. But he had been deeply hurt. He pretended not to see the
friendly haiid held out to him, and his voice was cold when
he answered her.

"I am glad to have been of some service," he said, "but I
think you overrate my action. Your brother would not have
drowned, I am sure. You owe me nothing. Good-night."

Betty stood still one moment staring at the door through
which he had gone before she realized that her overtures of
friendship had been politely, but coldly, ignored. She had
actually been snubbed. The impossible had happened to
Elizabeth Zane. Her first sensation after she recovered from
her momentary bewilderment was one of amusement, and she
laughed in a constrained manner; but, presently, two bright
red spots appeared in her cheeks, and she looked quickly
around to see if any of the others had noticed the incident.

50 Betty Zane

None of them had been paying any attention to her and she
breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough to be snubbed
•without having others see it. That would have been too
humiliating. Her eyes flashed fire as she remembered the
disdain in Clarke's face, and that she had not been clever
enough to see it in time.

"Tige, come here!" called Colonel Zane. "What ails thi
dog?"

The dog had jumped to his feet and ran to the door, where
he sniffed at the crack over the threshold. His aspect was
fierce and threatening. He uttered low growls and then two
short barks. Those in the room heard a soft moccasined
footfall outside. The next instant the door opened wide
and a tall figure stood disclosed.

"Wetzel!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. A hush fell on the
little company after that exclamation, and all eyes were fas
tened on the new comer.

Well did the stranger merit close attention. He stalked,
into the room, leaned his long rifle against the mantelpiece
and spread out his hands to the fire. He was clad from head
to foot in fringed and beaded buckskin, which showed evidence
of a long and arduous tramp. It was torn and wet and
covered with mud. He was a magnificently made man, six
feet in height, and stood straight as an arrow. His wide
shoulders, and his muscular, though not heavy, limbs denoted
wonderful strength and activity. His long hair, black as a
raven's wing, hung far down his shoulders. Presently he
turned and the light shone on a remarkable face. So calm
and cold and stern it was that it seemed chiselled out of
marble. The most striking features were its unusual pallor?
and the eyes, which were coal black, and piercing as the dag
ger's point.

"If }^ou have any bad news out v/ith it," cried Colonel Zane,
impatiently.

"No need fer alarm," said Wetzel. He smiled slightly as
he saw Betty's apprehensive face. "Don't look scared, Betty.
The redskins are miles away and goin' fer the Kanawha
settlement."

CHAPTER in.

5 ANY weeks of quiet followed tbe events
of the last chapter. The settlers
planted their corn, harvested their
wheat and labored in the fields during
the whole of one spring and summer
without hearing the dreaded war cry
of the Indians. Colonel Zane, who had
been a disbursing officer in the army
of Lord Dunmore, where he had at
tained the rank of Colonel, visited Fort Pitt during the sum
mer in the hope of increasing the number of soldiers in his
garrison. His efforts proved fruitless. He returned to Fort
Henry by way of the river with several pioneers, who with
their families were bound for Fort Henry. One of these
pioneers was a minister who worked in the fields every week
day and on Sundays preached the Gospel to those who gath
ered in the meeting house.

Alfred Clarke had taken up his permanent abode at the
fort, where he had been installed as one of the regular garri
son. His duties, as well as those of the nine other members
of the garrison, were light. For two hours out of the twenty-
four he was on guard. Thus he had ample time to acquaint
himself with the settlers and their families.

Alfred and Isaac had now become firm friends. They spent
many hours fishing in the river, and roaming the woods in the
vicinity, as Colonel Zane would not allow Isaac to stray far
from the fort. Alfred became a regular visitor at Colonel
Zane's house. He saw Betty every day, but as yet, nothing/
had mended the breach between them. They were civil to
each other when chance threw them together, but Betty usu
ally left the room on some pretext soon after he entered.
Alfred regretted his hasty exhibition of resentment and would
have been glad to establish friendly relations with her. But
she would not give him an opportunity. She avoided him
on all possible occasions. Though Alfred was fast succumb-

52 BettyZane

ing to the charm of Beuy's beautiful face, though his desire
to be near her had grown well nigh resistless, his pride had
not yet broken down. Many of the summer evenings found
him on the Colonel's doorstep, smoking a pipe, or playing
with the children. He was that rare and best company — a
good listener. Although he laughed at Colonel Zane's stories,
and never tired of hearing of Isaac's experiences among thfe
Indians, it is probable he would not have partaken of th&
Colonel's hospitality nearly so often had it not been that he
\iisually saw Betty, and if he got only a glimpse of her he
went away satisfied. On Sundays he attended the services at
the little church, and listened to Betty's sweet voice as she
led the singing.

There were a number of girls at the fort near Betty's age.
With all of these Alfred was popular. He appeared so en
tirely different from the usual young man on the frontier
that he was more than welcome everywhere. Girls in the
backwoods are much the same as girls in thickly populated and
civilized districts. They liked his manly ways ; his frank and
pleasant manners; and when to these virtues he added a cer
tain deferential regard, a courtliness to which they were un
accustomed, they were all the better pleased. He paid the
young women little attentions, such as calling on them, taking
them to parties ana o*it driving, but there was not one of
them who could think that she, in particular, interested him.

The girls noticed, however, that he never approached Betty
after service, or on any occasion, and while it caused some
wonder and gossip among them, for Betty enjoyed the dis
tinction of being the belle of the border, they were secretly
pleased. Little hints and knowing smiles, with which girls
are so skillful, made known to Betty all of this, and, although
she was apparently indifferent, it hurt her sensitive feelings.
It had the effect of making her believe she hated the cause
of it more than ever.

What would have happened had things gone on in this
way, I am not prepared to say ; probably had not a meddling
Fate decided to take a hand in the game, Betty would have
continued to think she hated Alfred, and I would never h«.ve

BettyZane 53

had occasion to write his story; but Fate did interfere, and,
one day in the early fall, brought about an incident which
changed the whole world for the two young people.

It was the afternoon of an Indian summer day — in that
most beautiful time of all the year — and Betty, accompanied
by her dog, had wandered up the hillside into the woods.
From the hilltop the broad river could be seen winding away
in the distance, and a soft, bluish, smoky haze hung over the
water. The forest seemed to be on fire. The yellow leaves
of the poplars, the brown of the white and black oaks, the red
and purple of the maples, and the green of the pines and hem
locks flamed in a glorious blaze of color. A stillness, which
was only broken now and then by the twittering of birds utter
ing the plaintive nobes peculiar to them in the autumn as they
band together before their pilgrimage to the far south, per
vaded the forest.

Betty loved the woods, and she knew all the trees. She
could tell their names by the bark or the shape of the leaves.
The giant black oak, with its smooth shiny bark and sturdy
limbs, the chestnut with its rugged, seamed sides and bristling
burrs, the hickory with its lofty height and curled shelling
bark, were all well known and well loved by Betty. Many
times had she wondered at the trembling, quivering leaves of
the aspen, and the foliage of the silver-leaf as it glinted in
the sun. To-day, especially, as she walked through the
woods, did their beauty appeal to her. In the little sunny
patches of clearing which were scattered here and there in
the grove, great clusters of goldenrod grew profusely. The
golden heads swayed gracefully on the long stems,, Betty
gathered a few sprigs and added to them a bunch of warmly
tinted m^ple leaves.

The chestnut burrs were opening. As Betty mounted a
little rocky eminence and reached out for a limb of a chestnut
tree, she lost her footing and fell. Her right foot had twisted
under her as she went down, and when a sharp pain shot
through it she was unable to repress a cry. She got up, ten
derly placed the foot on the ground and tried her weight
on it, which caused acute pain. She unlaced and removed

54s BcttyZane

her moccasin to find that her ankle had commenced to swell.
Assured that she had sprained it, and aware of the serious
consequences of an injury of that nature, she felt greatly dis
tressed. Another effort to place her foot on the ground and
bear her weight on it caused such severe pain that she was
compelled to give up the attempt. Sinking down hy the
trunk of the tree and leaning her head against it she tried
to think of a way out of her difficulty.

The fort, which she could plainly see, seemed a long dis
tance off, although it was only a little way down the grassy
slope. She looked and looked, but not a person was to be
seen. She called to Tige. She remembered that he had
been chasing a squirrel a short while ago, but now there was
no sign of him. He did not come at her call. How annoy
ing! If Tige were only there she could have sent him for
help. She shouted several times, but the distance was too
great for her voice to carry to the fort. The mocking echo
of her call came back from the bluff that rose to her left.
Betty now began to be alarmed in earnest, and the tears
started to roll down her cheeks. The throbbing pain in her
ankle, the dread of having to remain out in that lonesome
forest after dark, and the fear that she miprht not be found
for hours, caused Betty's usually brave spirit to falter; she
was weeping unreservedly.

In reality she had been there only a few minutes — although
they seemed hours to her — when she heard the light tread of
moccasined feet on the moss behind her. Starting up with a
cry of joy she turned and looked up into the astomshed face
cf Alfred Clarke.

Returning from a hunt back in the woods he had walked
up to her before being aware of her presence. In a single
glance he saw the wildflowers scattered beside her, the little
moccasin turned inside out, the woebegone, tearstained face,
and he knew Betty had come to grief.

Confused and vexed, Betty sank back at the foot of the
tree. It is probable she would have encountered Girty or a
member of his band of redmen, rather than have this young
man find her in this predicament. It provoked her to think

Betty Zane 55

that of all the people at the fort it should be the only one
she could not welcome who should find her in such a sad plight.

"Why, Miss Zane !" he exclaimed, after a moment of hesita
tion. "What in the world has happened? Have you been
hurt? May I help you?"

"It is nothing," said Betty, bravely, as she gathered up
her flowers and the moccasin and rose slowly to her feet.
"Thank you, but you need not wait."

The cold words nettled Alfred and he was in the act of
turning away from her when he caught, for the fleetest part
of a second, the full gaze of her eyes. He stopped short. A
closer scrutiny of her face convinced him that she was suffer
ing and endeavoring with all her strength to conceal it.

"But I will wait. I think you have hurt yourself. Lean
upon my arm," he said, quietly.

"Please let me help }rou," he continued, going nearer to her.

But Betty refused his assistance. She would not even
allow him to take the goldenrod from her arms. After a few
hesitating steps she paused and lifted her foot from the
ground.

"Here, you must not try to walk a step farther," he said,
resolutely, noting how white she had suddenly become. "You
have sprained your ankle and are needlessly torturing your
self. Please let me carry you?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Betty, in evident distress. "I will
manage. It is not so — very — far."

She resumed the slow and painful walking, but she had
taken only a few steps when she stopped again and this time
a low moan issued from her lips. She swayed slightly back
ward and if Alfred had not dropped his rifle and caught her
she would have fallen.

"Will you — plea.se — go — for some one?" she whispered
faintly, at the same time pushing him away.

"How absurd !" burst out Alfred, indignantly. "Am I,
then, so distasteful to you that you would rather wait here
and suffer a half hour longer while I go for assistance? It
is only common courtesv on my part. I do not want to carry
you. I think }rou would be quite heavy."

56 Betty Zan*

He said this in a hard, bitter tone, deeply hurt that she
would not accept even a little kindness from him. He looked
away from her and waited. Presently a soft, half -smothered
sob came from Betty and it expressed such utter wretchedness
that his heart melted. After all she was only a child. He
turned to see the tears running down her cheeks, and with a
suppressed imprecation upon the wilfulness of young women
in general, and this one in particular, he stepped forward
and before she could offer any resistance, he had taken her
up in his arms, goldenrod and all, and had started off at a
rapid walk toward the fort.

Betty cried out in angry surprise, struggled violently for
a moment, and then, as suddenly, lay quietly in his arms. His
anger changed to self-reproach as he realized what a light
burden she made. He looked down at the dark head lying on
his shoulder. Her face was hidden by the dusky rippling
hair, which tumbled over his breast, brushed against his cheek,
and blew across his lips. The touch of those fragrant tresses
was a soft caress. Almost unconsciously he pressed her closer
to his heart. And as a sweet mad longing grew upon him he
was blind to all save that he held her in his arms, that uncer
tainty was gone forever, and that he loved her. With these
thoughts running riot in his brain he carried her down the
hill to Colonel Zane's house.

The negro, Sam, who came out of the kitchen, dropped the
bucket he hnd in his hand and ran into the house when he
saw them. When Alfred reached the gate Colonel Zane and
Isaac were hurrying out to meet him.

"For Heaven's sake ! What has happened ? Is she badly
hurt? I have always looked for this," said the Colonel, ex
citedly.

"You need not look so alarmed," answered Alfred. "She
has only sprained her ankle, and trying to walk afterward
hurt her so badly that she became faint and I had to carry
her,"

"Dear me, is that all?" said Mrs. Zane, who had also come
out. "We were terribly frightened. Sam came running into

Betty Zane 51

the house with some kind c f a wild story. Said he knew j-ou
would be the death of Betty."

"How ridiculous ! Colonel Zane, that servant of yours never
fails to say something against me," said Alfred, as he carried
Betty into the house.

"He doesn't like you. But you need not mind Sam. He
is getting old and we humor him, perhaps too much. We
are certainly indebted to you," returned the Colonel.

Betty was laid on the couch and consigned to the skillful
hands of Mrs. Zane, who pronounced the injury a bad sprain*

"Well, Betty, this will keep you quiet for a few days," said
she, with a touch of humor, as she gently felt the swollen ankle.

"Alfred, you have been our good angel so often that I don't

see how we shall ever reward you," said Isaac to Alfred.

t> *

"Oh, that time will come. Don't worry about that," said
Alfred, jestingly, and then, turning to the others he con
tinued, earnestly. "I will apologize for the manner in which
I disregarded Miss Zane's wish not to help her. I am sure I
could do no less. I believe my rudeness has spaced her con*
siderable suffering."

"What did he mean, Betts?" asked Isaac, going- back to his
sister after he had closed the door. ''Didn't you want him
to help you?"

Betty did not answer. She sat on the couch while Mrs.
Zane held the little bare foot and slowly poured the hot water
over the swollen and discolored ankle. Betty's lips were pale*
She winced every time Mrs. Zane touched her f«ct, but as
yet she had not uttered even a sigh.

"Betty, does it hurt much?" asked Isaac.

"Hurt? Do you think I am made of wood? Of course it
hurts," retorted Betty. "That water is so hot. Bessie, will
not cold water do as well?"

"I am sorry. I won't tease any more," said Isaax*, taking
his sister's hand. "I'll tell you what, Betty, we owe Alfred
Clarke a great deal, you and I. I am going to tell you some*
thing so you will know how much more you owe him. Do
you remember last month when that red heifer of yours got
away. Well, Clarke chased her all day and finally caught he*

58 Betty Zanc

en the woods. He asked me to say I had caught her. Some
how or other he seems to be afraid of you. I wish you and
he would be good friends. He is a mighty fine fellow.**

In spite of the pain Betty was suffering a bright blush suf*
fused her face at the words of her brother, who, blind as
brothers are in regard to their own sisters, went on praising
his friend.

Betty was confined t< the house a week or more and during
this enforced idleness he had ample time for reflection and
opportunity to inquire into the perplexed state of her mind.

The small room, ~wh\ch Betty called her own, faced the river
and fort. Most of the day she lay by the window trying to
read her favorite books, but often she gazed out on the quiet
scene, the rolling river, the everchanging trees and the pas
tures in which the rea and white cows grazed peacefully; or
she would watch with idle, dreamy eyes the flight of the crow?
over the hills, and the graceful motion of the hawk as he sailed
around and around in the azure sky, looking like a white sail
far out on a summer sea,

But Betty's mind was at variance with this peaceful scene-
The consciousness of a change, which she could not readily de-
fine, in her feelings toward Alfred Clarke, vexed and irritatea
her. Why did she think of him so often? True, he had
saved her brother's life. Still she was compelled to admit to
herself that this was not the reason. Try as she would, she
could not banish the thought of him. Over and over again,
a thousand times, came the recollection of that moment when
he had taken her up in his arms as though she were a chile?
Some vague feeling stirred in her heart as she rememberea
the strong yet gentle clasp of his arms.

Several times from her window she had seen him coming
across the square between the fort and her brother's house,
and womanlike, unseen herself, she had watched him. How
erect was his carriage. How pleasant his deep voice sounded
as she heard him talking to her brother. Day by day, as her
ankle grew stronger and she knew she could not remain much
ionger in her room, she dreaded more and more the thought
af meeting him. She could not understand herself; she had

BettyZane 5'^

strange dreams; she cried seemingly without the slightest
cause, and she was restless and unhappy. Finally she frrew
angry and scolded herself. She said she was silly and senti
mental. This had the effect of making her bolder, but it did
not quiet her unrest. Betty did not know that the little blind
God, who steals unawares on his victim, had marked her for
his own, and that all this sweet perplexity was the unconscious
awakening of the heart.

One afternoon, near the end of Betty's siege indoors, two
of her friends, Lydia Boggs and Alice Reynolds, called to
see her.

Alice had bright blue eyes, and her nut brown hair hung in
irebellious curls around her demure and pretty face. An
adorable dimple lay hidden in her rosy cheek and flashed into
light with her smiles.

"Betty, you are a lazy thing!" exclaimed Lydia. "Lying
here all day long doing nothing but gaze out of the window."

"Girls, I am glad you came over," said Betty. "I am blue.
Perhaps you will cheer me up."

"Betty needs some one of the sterner sex to cheer her," said
Alice, mischievously, her eyes twinkling. "Don't you think
so, Lydia?"

"Of course," answered Lydia. "When I get blue "

"Please spare me," interrupted Betty, holding up her hands
in protest. "I have not a single doubt that your masculine
remedies are sufficient for all your ills. Girls who have lost
their interest in the old pleasures, who spend their spare time
in making linen and quilts, and who have sunk their very per
sonalities in a great big tyrant of a man, are not liable to get
blue. They are afraid he may see a tear or a frown. But*
thank goodness, I have not yet reached that stage."

"Oh, Betty Zane! Just you wait! Wait.1" exclaimed
Lydia, shaking her finger at Betty. "Your turn is coming.
When it does do not expect any mercy from us, for you shall
never get it."

"Unfortunately, you and Alice have monopolized the atten
tions of the only two eligible young men at the fort," saifl
Betty, with a lautrb-

51 Betty Zane

*\Nonsense. 11; ere arc plenty of young men all eager for
;four favor, }^ou little coquette,'1' answered Lydia. "Harry
Martin, Will Mttzer, Captain Swearengen, of Short Creek,
and others too numerous to count. Look at Lew Wetzel and
Billy Bennet."

"Lew cares for nothing except hunting Indians and Billy
is only a boy," saij Betty.

"Well, have it your own way,** said Lydia. "Only this,
I know Billy adores you, for he told me so, and a better lad
never lived.'*

"Lyde, you forget, to include one other among those pros
trate before Betty's charms," said Alice.

"Oh, yes, you mean Mr. Clarke. To be sure, I had for
gotten him," answered Lydia. "How odd that he should be
the one to find you the day you hurt your foot. Was it an
accident?"

"Of course. I slipped cff the bank," said Betty.

"No, no. I don't mean that. Was his finding you an
accident?"

"Do you imagine I waylaid Mr. Clarke, and then sprained
my ankle on purpose?" said Betty, who began to look dan
gerous.

"Certainly not that; only it seems so odd that he should
be the one to rescue all the damsels in distress. Day before
yesterday he stopped a runaway horse, and saved Nell Metzer,
^vho was in the wagon, a severe shaking up, if not something
more serioue. She is desperately in love with him. She told
me Mr. Clarke "

"I really do not care to hear about it," interrupted Betty.

;*But, Betty, tell us. Wasn't it dreadful, his carrying
you?" asked Alice, with a sly glance at Betty. "You know
you are so — so prudish, one may say. Did he take you in
liis arms? It must have been very embarrassing for you, con
sidering your dislike of Mr. Clarke, and he so much in love
with *"

"You hateful girls," cried Betty, throwing a pillow at
Alice, who just managed to dodge it. "I wish you would

home."

BettyZane 61

'Never mind, Betty. We will not tease anymore," said
Lydia, putting her arm around Betty. "Come, Alice, we will
tell Betty you have named the day for your wadding. Sect

She is all eyes now.*'

**********

The young people of the frontier settlements were usually
married before they were twenty. This was owing to the fact
:hat there was little distinction of rank and family pride.
The object of the pioneers in moving West was, of course, to
better their condition ; but, the realization of their dependence
on one another, the common cause of their labors, and th«
terrible dangers to which they were continually exposed,
brought them together as one large family.

Therefore, early love affairs were encouraged, not frowned
upon as they are to-day — and they usually resulted in early
marriages.

However, do not let it be imagined thrit the path of the
youthful swain was strewn with flowers. Courting or "spark
ing" his sweetheart had a painful as well as a joyous side.
Many and varied were the tricks played on the fortunate love?
by the gallants who had vied with him for the favor of the
maid. Brave, indeed, he who won her. If he marched up to
her home in the early evening he was made the object of
innumerable jests, even the }roung lady's family indulging in
and enjoying the banter. Later, when he came out of the
door, it was more than likely that, if it were winter, he would
be met by a volley of water soaked snowballs, or big buckets
of Jcewater, or a mountain of snow shoved off the roof by some
trickster, who had waited patiently for such an opportunity.
On summer nights his horse would be stolen, led far into tli€
'woods and tied, or the wheels of his wagon would be -taken
off and hidden, leaving him to walk home. Usually the suc
cessful lover, and especially if he lived at a distance, would
make his way only once a week and then late at night to the
home of his betrothed. Silently, like a thief in the dark, he
would crawl through the grass and shrubs until beneath her
window. At a low signal, prearranged between them, she
would slip to the door and let him in without dist*ui>:*ig W*

82 BettyZane

parents. Fearing to make a light, and perhaps welcoming
that excuse to enjoy the darkness beloved by sweethearts, they
would sit quietly, whispering low, until the brightening in the
east betokened the break of day, and then he was off, happy
and lighthearted, to his labors.

A wedding was looked forward to with much pleasure by
old and young. Practically, it meant the only gathering of
the settlers which was not accompanied by the work of reap
ing the harvest, building a cabin, planning an expedition to
relieve some distant settlement, or a defense for themselves.
For all, it meant a rollicking good time; to the old people a
feast, and the looking on at the merriment of their children —
to the young folk, a pleasing break in the monotony of their
bus}'' lives, a day given up to fun and gossip, a day of
romance, a wedding, and best of all, a dance. Therefore,
Alice Reynold's wedding proved a great event to the inhabi
tants of Fort Henry.

The day dawned bright and clear. The sun, rising like a
ball of red gold, cast its yellow beams ever the bare, brown
hills, shining on the cabin roofs white with frost, and making
the d°licate weblike coat of ice on the river sparkle as if it
had been sprinkled with powdered diamonds. William Mar
tin, the groom, and his attendants, met at an appointed
time to celebrate an old time-honored custom which always
took place before the party started for the house of the
bride. This performance was called "the race for the
bottle."

A number of young men, selected by the groom, were
asked to take part in this race, which was to be run over as
rough and dangerous a track as could be found. The worst
the road, the more ditches, bogs, trees, stumps,, brush, in fact,
the more obstacles of every kind, the better, as all these af
forded opportunity for daring and expert horsemanship.
The English fox race, now famous on three continents, while
it involves risk and is sometimes dangerous, cannot, in the
sense of hazard to life and limb, be compared to this race for
the bottle.

On this day the run was not less exciting than usual. The

Betty Zane 63

horses were placed as nearly abreast as possible and the starter
gave an Indian yell. Then followed the cracking of whips,
the furious pounding of heavy hoofs, the commands of the
contestants, and the yells of the onlookers. Away they went
at a mad pace down the road. The course extended a mile
straight away down the creek bottom. The first hundred
yards the horses were bunched. At the ditch be}rond the
creek bridge a beautiful, clean limbed animal darted from
among the furiously galloping horses and sailed over the
deep furrow like a bird. All recognized the rider as Alfred
Clarke on his black thoroughbred. Close behind was George
Martin mounted on a large roan of powerful frame and long
stride. Through the willows they dashed, over logs and
brush heaps, up the little ridges of rising ground, and down
the shallow crullies, unheeding the stinging branches and the
splashing water. Half the distance covered and Alfred
turned, to find the roan close behind. On a level road he
would have laughed at the attempt of that horse to keep up
with his racer, but he was beginning to fear that the strong
limbed stallion deserved his reputation. Directly before them
rose a pile of logs and matted brush, placed there by the dare
devil settlers who had mapped out the route. It was too high
for any horse to be put at. With pale cheek and clinched teeth
Alfred touched the spurs to Roger and then threw himself
forward. The gallant beast responded nobly. Up, up, up
he rose, clearing all but the topmost branches. Alfred turned
again and saw the giant roan make the leap without touching
a twig. The next instant Roger went splash into a swamp.
He sank to his knees in the soft black soil. He could move
but one foot at a time, and Alfred saw at a glance he had won
the race. The great weight of the roan handicapped him
here. When Alfred reached the other side of the bog, where
the bottle was swinging from a branch of a tree, his rival's
horse was floundering hopelessly in the middle of the treacher
ous mire. The remaining three horsemen, who had come up
by this time, seeing that it would be useless to attempt further
efforts, had drawn up on the bank. With friendly shouts to
Clarke, they acknowledged themselves beaten. There were

64 Batty Zane

no judges required for this race, because the man who reached
the bottle first won it.

The five men returned to the starting point, where the
victor was greeted by loud whoops. The groom got the first
drink from the bottle, then came the attendants, and others
in order, after which the bottle was put away to be kept as
a memento of the occasion.

The party now repaired to the village and marched to the
home of the bride. The hour for the observance of the mar
riage rites was just before the midday meal. When the groom
reached the bride's home he found her in readiness. Sweet
and pretty Alice looked in her gray linsey gown, perfectly
plain and simple though it was, without an ornament or a
ribbon. Proud indeed looked her lover as he took her hand
and led her up to the waiting minister. When the whisper
ings had ceased the minister asked who gave this woman to
be married. Alice's father answered. •

"Will you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to love,
cherish and protect her all the days of her life?" asked the
minister.

"I will," answered a deep bass voice.

"Will you take this man to be your wedded husband, to
love, honor and obey him all the days of your life?"

"I will," said Alice, in a low tone.

"I pronounce you man and wife. Those whom God has
joined together let no man put asunder." .

There was a brief prayer and the ceremony ended. Then
followed the congratulations of relatives and friends. The
felicitations were apt to be trying to the nerves of even the
best tempered groom. The hand shakes, the heavy slaps on
the back, and the pommeling he received at the hands of his
intimate friends were as nothing compared to the anguish of
mind he endured while they were kissing his wife. The young
bucks would not have considered it a real wedding had they
been prevented from kissing the bride, and for that matter,
every girl within reach. So fast as the burly young settlers
could push themselves through the densely packed rooms they
kissed the bride, and then the first girl they came to.

Betty Zane 65

Betty and Lydia had been Alice's maids of honor. This
being Betty's first experience at a frontier wedding, it devel
oped that she was much in need of Lydia's advice, which she
had previously disdained. She had rested secure in her dig
nity. Poor Betty! The first man to kiss Alice was George
Martin, a big, strong fellow, who gathered his brother's bride
into his arms and *gave her a bearish hug and a resounding
kiss. Releasing her he turned toward Lydia and Betty.
Lydia eluded him, but one of his great hands clasped
around Betty's wrist.* She tried to look haughty, but with
everyone laughing, and the young man's face expressive of
honest fun and happiness she found it impossible. She stood
still and only turned her face a little to one side while George
kissed her. The young men now made a rush for her. With
blushing cheeks Betty, unable to stand her ground any longer,
ran to her brother, the Colonel. He pushed her away with a
laugh. She turned to Major McColloch, who held out his
arms to her. With an exclamation she wrenched herself
free from a young man, who had caught her hand, and
flew to the Major. But alas for Betty! The Major
was not proof against the temptation and he kissed her
himself.

"Traitor!" cried Betty, breaking away from him.

Poor Betty was in despair. She had just made up her
mind to submit when she caught sight of Wetzel's familiar
figure. She ran to him and the hunter put one of his long
arms around her.

"I reckon I kin take care of you, Betty," he said, a smile
playing over his usually stern face. "See here, you young
bucks. Betty don't want to be kissed, and if you keep on
pesterin' her I'll have to scalp a few of you."

The merriment grew as the day progressed. During the
wedding feast great hilarity prevailed. It culminated in the
dance which followed the dinner. The long room of the
block-house had been decorated with evergreens, autumn leaves
and goldenrod, which were scattered profusely about, hiding
the blackened walls and bare rafters. Numerous blazing pine
knots, fastened on sticks which were stuck into the walls,

66 Betty Zane

lighted up a scene, which for color and animation could not
have been surpassed.

Colonel Zane's old slave, Sam, who furnished the music, sat
on a raised platform at the upper end of the hall, and the
way he sawed away on his fiddle, accompanying the movements
of his arm with a swaying of his body and a stamping of his
heavy foot, showed he had a hearty appreciation of his own
Value.

Prominent among the men and women standing and sitting
near the platform could be distinguished the tall forms of
Jonathan Zane, Major McColloch and Wetzel, all, as usual,
dressed in their hunting costumes and carrying long rifles.
The other men had made more or less effort to improve their
appearance. Bright homespun shirts and scarfs had replaced
the everyday buckskin garments. Major McColloch was
talking to Colonel Zane. The genial faces of both reflected
the pleasure they felt in the enjoyment of the younger people.
Jonathan Zane stood near the door. Moody and silent he
watched the dance. Wetzel leaned against the wall. The
black barrel of his rifle lay in the hollow of his arm. The
hunter was gravely contemplating the members of the bridal
party who were dancing in front of him. When the dance
ended Lydia and Betty stopped before Wetzel and Betty
said: "Lew, aren't you going to ask us to dance?"

The hunter looked down into the happy, gleaming faces,
and smiling in his half sad way, answered: "Every man to
his gifts."

"But you can dance. I want you to put aside your gun
long enough to dance with me. If I waited for }^ou to ask
"me, I fear I should have to wait a long t(ime. Come, Lew, here
I am asking you, and I know the other men are dying to dance
with me," said Betty, coaxingly, in a roguish voice.

Wetzel never refused a request of Betty's, and so, laying
aside his weapons, he danced with her, to the wonder and
admiration of all. Colonel Zane clapped his hands, and
everyone stared in amazement at the unprecedented sight.
Wetzel danced not ungracefully. He was wonderfully light
on his feet. His striking figure, the long black hair, and the

BettyZane u7

fancifully embroidered costume he wore contrasted strangely
with Betty's slender, graceful form and pretty gray
dress.

"Well, well, Lewis, I would not have believed anything but
the evidence of my own eyes," said Colonel Zane, with a laugh,
as Betty and Wetzel approached him.

"If all the men could dance as well as Lew, the girls would
be thankful, I can assure you," said Betty.

"Betty, I declare you grow prettier every day," said old
John Bennet, who was standing with the Colonel and the
Major. "If I were only a young man once more I should
try my chances with you, and I wouldn't give up very
easily."

"I do not know, Uncle John, but I am inclined to think
that if you were a young man and should come a-wooing you
would not get a rebuff from me," answered Betty, smiling on
the old man, of whom she was very fond.

"Miss Zane, will you dance with me?"

The voice sounded close by Betty's side. She recognized
it, and an unaccountable sensation of shyness suddenly came
over her. She had firmly made up her mind, should Mr.
Clarke ask her to dance, that she would tell him she was tired,
or engaged for that number — anything so that she could
avoid dancing with him. But, now that the moment had come
she either forgot her resolution or lacked the courage to keep
it, for as the music commenced, she turned and without saying
a word or looking at him, she placed her hand on his arm. He
whirled her away. She gave a start of surprise and delight
at the familiar step and then gave herself up to the charm of
the dance. Supported by his strong arm she floated around
the room in a sort of dream. Dancing as they did was new
to the young people at the Fort — it was a style then in vogue
in the east — and everyone looked on with great interest and
curiosity. But all too soon the dance ended and before Betty
had recovered her composure she found that her partner had
led her to a secluded seat in the lower end of the hall. The
bench was partly obscured from the dancers by masses of
autumn leaves.

68 BettyZane

"That was a very pleasant dance," said Alfred. "Miss
Boggs told me you danced the round dance."

"I was much surprised and pleased," said Betty, who had
indeed enjoyed it.

"It has been a delightful day," went on Alfred, seeing that
Betty was still confused. "I almost killed myself in that
race for the bottle this morning. I never saw such logs and
brush heaps and ditches in my life. I am sure that if the
fever of recklessness which seemed in the air had not sud
denly seized me I would never have put my horse at such
leaps."

"I heard my brother say your horse was one of the best
he had ever seen, and that you rode superbly," murmured
Betty.

"Well, to be honest, I would not care to take that ride again.
It certainly was not fair to the horse."

"How do you like the fort by this time?"

"Miss Zane, I am learning to love this free, wild life. I
really think I was made for the frontier. The odd customs
and manners which seemed strange at first have become very
acceptable to me now. I find everyone so honest and simple
and brave. Here one must work to live, which is right. Do
you know, I never worked in my life until I came to Fort
Henry. My life was all uselessness, idleness."

"I can hardly believe that," answered Betty. "You have
learned to dance and ride and "

"What?" asked Alfred, as Betty hesitated.

"Never mind. It was an accomplishment with which the
girls credited you," said Betty, with a little laugh.

"I suppose I did not deserve it. I heard I had a singular
aptitude for discovering young ladies in distress."

"Have you become well acquainted with the boys?" asked
Betty, hastening to change the subject.

"Oh, yes, particularly with your Indianized brother, Isaac.
He is the finest fellow, as well as the most interesting, I ever
knew. I like Colonel Zane immensely too. The dark, quiet
fellow, Jack, or John, they call him, is not like your other
brothers. The hunter, Wetzel, inspires me with awe. Every-

Betty Zane 69

one has been most kind to me and I have almost forgotten that
I was a wanderer."

"I am glad to hear that," said Betty.

"Miss Zone," continued Alfred, "doubtless you have heard
that I come West because I was compelled to leave my home.
Please d^> noi believe everything you hear of me. Some day
I may tell you my story if you care to hear it. Suffice it to
say now that I left my home of my own free will and I could
go back to-morrow."

"I did not mean to imply " began Betty, coloring.

"Of course not. But tell me about yourself. Is it not
rather dull and lonesome here for vou?"

*/

"It was last winter. But I have been contented and happy
this summer. Of course, it is not Philadelphia life, and I miss
the excitement and gayety of my uncle's house. I knew my
place was with my brothers. My aunt pleaded with me tQ
live with her and not go to the wilderness. I had everything
I wanted there — luxury, society, parties, balls, dances, friends,
all that the heart of a girl could desire, bat I preferred to
come to tliis little frontier settlement. Strange choice for a
girl, was it not?"

"Unusual, yes," answered Alfred, gravely. "And I cannot
but wonder what motives actuated our coming to Fort Henry.
I came to seek my fortune. You came to bring sunshine into
the home of your brother, and left your fortune behind you.
Well, your motive has the element of nobility. Mine has noth
ing but that of recklessness. I would like to read the future."

"I do not think it is right to have such a wish. With the
veil rolled away could you work as hard, accomplish as much?
I do not want to know the future. Perhaps some of it will be
unhappy. I have made my choice and will cheerfully abide
by it. I rather envy your being a man. You have the world
to conquer. A woman — what can she do ? She can knead the
dough, ply the distaff, and sit by the lattice and watch and
wait."

"Let us postpone such melancholy thoughts until some fu
ture day. I have not as yet said anything that I intended.
I wish to tell you how sorry I am that I acted in such a rude

70 Betty Zane

way the night jour brother came home. I do not know what
made me do so, but I know I have regretted it ever since.
Will you forgive me and may we not be friends?"

"I — I do not know," said Betty, surprised and vaguely
troubled by the earnest light in his eyes.

"But why? Surely you will make some little allowance for
a naturally quick temper, and you know you did not — that
you were "

"Yes, I remember I was hasty and unkind. But I made
amends, or at least, I tried to do so."

"Try to overlook my stupidity. I will not give up until
you forgive me. Consider how much you can avoid by being
generous."

"Very well, then, I will forgive you," said Betty, who had
arrived at the conclusion that this young man was one of de
termination.

"Thank you. I promise you shall never regret it. An^
the sprained ankle? It must be well, as I noticed you danced
beautifully."

"I am compelled to believe what the girls say — that you
are inclined to the language of compliment. My ankle is
nearly well, thank you. It hurts a little now and then."

"Speaking of your accident reminds me of the day it hap
pened," said Alfred, watching her closely. He desired to
tease her a little, but he was not sure of his ground. "I had
been all day in the woods with nothing but my thoughts —
mostly unhappy ones — for company. When I met you I
pretended to be surprised. As a matter of fact I was not,
for I had followed your dog. He took a liking to me and I
was extremely pleased, I assure you. Well, I saw your face
a moment before you knew I was near you. When you heard
my footsteps you turned with a relieved and joyous cry.
When you saw whom it was your glad expression changed,
and if I had been a hostile Wyandot you could not have
looked more unfriendly. Such a. woeful, tear-stained face I

never saw."

"Mr. Clarke, please do not speak any more of that," said
Betty, with dignity. "I desire that you forget it."

Betty Zane 71

"I will forget all except that it was I who had the happi
ness of finding you and of helping you. I cannot forget
that. I am sure we should never have been friends but for
that accident."

"There is Isaac. He is looking for me," answered Betty,
rising.

"Wait a moment longer — please. He will find you," said
Alfred, detaining her. "Since you have been so kind I have
grown bolder. May I come over to see you to-morrow?"

He looked straight down into the dark eyes which wavered
and fell before he had completed his question.

"There is Isaac. He cannot see me here. I must go."
"But not before telling me. What is the good of your
forgiving me if I may not see you. Please say yes."

"You may come," answered Betty, half amused and half
provoked at his persistence. "I should think you would know
that such permission invariably goes with a young woman's
forgiveness."

"Hello, here you are. What a time I have had in finding
you," said Isaac, coming up with flushed face and eyes bright
with excitement. "Alfred, what do you mean by hiding the
belle ol the dance away like this? I want to dance with you,
Betts. I am having a fine time. I have not danced anything
but Indian dances for ages. Sorry to take her away, Alfred.
I can see she doesn't want to go. Ha ! Ha !" and with a mis
chievous look at both of them he led Betty away.

Alfred kept his seat awhile lost in thought. Suddenly he
remembered that it would look strange if he did not make
himself agreeable, so he got up and found a partner. He
danced with Alice, Lydia, and the other young ladies.
After an hour he slipped away to his room. He
wished to be alone. He wanted to think; to decide whether
it would be best for him to stay at the fort, or ride away
in the darkness and never return. With the friendly touch
of Betty's hand the madness with which he had been battling
for weeks rushed over him stronger than ever. The thrill of
that soft little palm remained with him, and he pressed the
hand it had touched to his lips.

72 BettyZane

For a long hour he sat by his window. He could dimly
see the broad winding river, with its curtain of pale ftray mist,
and beyond, the dark outline of the forest. A cool breeze
from the water fanned his heated brow, and the quiei and soli
tude soothed him.

CHAPTER IV.

OOD morning, Harry. Where are you
/ going so early?" called Betty from the
doorway.

A lad was passing down the path in
front of Colonel Zane's house as Betty
hailed him. He carried a rifle almost as
long as himself.

"Mornin', Betty. I am goin' 'cross
the crick f er that turkey I hear gobblin',"
he answered, stopping at the gate and
smiling brightly at Betty.

"Hello, Harry Bennet. Going after that turkey? I have
heard him several mornings and he must be a big, healthy
gobbler," said Colonel Zane, stepping to the door. "You
are going to have company. Here comes Wetzel."

"Good^ morning, Lew. Are you too off on a turkey hunt ?"
said Befy.

"Listen," said the hunter, as he stopped and leaned against
the gate. They listened. All was quiet save for the tinkle
of a cow-bell in the pasture adjoining the Colonel's barn.
Presently the silence was groken by a long, shrill, peculiar
cry.

"Chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug-chug."
"Well, it's a turkey, all right, and I'll bet a big gobbler,"
remarked Colonel Zane, as the cry ceased.
"Has Jonathan heard it?" asked Wetzel.
"Not that I know of. Why do you ask.'"' said the Colonel,
in a low tone. "Look here, Lew, is that not a genuine call?"
"Goodbye, Harry, be sure and bring me a turkey," called
Betty, as she disappeared.

"I calkilate it's a red turkey," answered the hunter, and
motioning the lad to stay behind, he shouldered his rifle and
passed swiftly down the path.

Of all the Wetzel family — a family noted from one end
of tH frontier to the other — Lewis was the most famous.

74 Betty Zan«

The early history of West Virginia and Ohio is replete with
the daring deeds of this wilderness roamer, this lone hunter
and insatiable Nemesis, justly called the greatest Indian
slayer known to men.

— When Lewis was about twenty years old, and his brothers
John and Martin little older, they left their Virginia home for
a protracted hunt. On their return they found the smoking
ruins of the home, the mangled remains of father and mother,
the naked and violated bodies of their sisters, and the scalped
and bleeding corpse of a baby brother. r •

Lewis Wetzel swore sleepless and eternal vengeance on the
whole Indian race. Terribly did he carry out that resolution.
From that time forward he lived most of the time in the woods,
and an Indian who crossed his trail was a doomed man. The
various Indian tribes gave him different names. The Shaw-
nees called him "Long Knife ;" the Hurons, "Destroyer ;" the
Delawares, "Death Wind," and any one of these names would
chill the heart of the stoutest warrior.

To most of the famed pioneer hunters of the border, In
dian fighting was only a side issue — generally a necessary one
— but with Wetzel it was the business of his life. Ke lived
solely to kill Indians. He plunged recklessly into the strife,
and was never content unless roaming the wilderness solitudes,
trailing the savages to their very homes and ambushing the
village bridlepath like a panther waiting for his prey. Often
in the gray of the morning the Indians, sleeping around their
camp fire, were awakened by a horrible, screeching yell. They
started up in terror only to fall victims to the tomahawk of
their merciless foe, or tc hear a rifle shot and get a glimpse
of a form with flying black hair disappearing with wonderful
quickness in the forest. Wetzel always left death behind
him, and he was gone before his demoniac yell ceased to echo
throughout the woods. Although often pursued, he invariably
eluded the Indians, for he was the fleetest runner on the border.

For many years he was considered the right hand of the
defense of the fort. The Indians held him in superstitious
dread, and the fact that he was known to be in the settlement
had averted more than one attack by the Indians.

JSettyZane 75

Many regarded Wetzel as a savage, a man who was mad
for the blood of the red men, and without one redeeming
quality. But this was an unjust opinion. When that rest
less fever for revenge left him — it was not always with him —
he was quiet and peaceable. To those few who knew him well
he was even amiable. But Wetzel, although known to every
one, cared for few. He spent little time in the settlements
and rarely spoke except when addressed.

Nature had singularly fitted him for his pre-eminent posi
tion among scouts and hunters. He was tall and broad across
the shoulders; his strength, agility and endurance were mar
velous ; he had an eagle eye, the sagacity of the bloodhound,
and that intuitive knowledge which plays such an important
part in a hunter's life. He knew not fear. He was daring
where daring was the wiser part. Crafty, tireless and im
placable, Wetzel was incomparable in his vocation.

His long raven-black hair, of which he was vain, when
combed out reached to within a foot of the ground. He had
a rare scalp, one for which the Indians would have bartered
anything.

A favorite Indian decoy, and the most fatal one, was the
imitation of the call of the wild turkey. It had often hap
pened that men from the settlements who had gone out for a
turkey which had been gobbling, had not returned.

For several mornings Wetzel had heard a turkey call, and
becoming suspicious of it, had determined to satisfy himself.
On the east side of the creek hill there was a cavern some fifty
or sixty yards above the water. The entrance to this cavern
was concealed by vines and foliage. Wetzel knew of it, and,
crossing the stream some distance above, he made a wide cir
cuit and came up back of the cave. Here he concealed him
self in a clump of bushes and waited. He had not been there
long when directly below him sounded the cry, "Chug-a-lug,
Chug-a-lug, Chug-a-lug." At the same time the polished
head and brawny shoulders of an Indian warrior rose out of

•/

the cavern. Peering cautiously around, the savage again
gave the peculiar cry, and then sank back out of sight. Wetzel
screened himself safely in his position and watched the savage

76 Betty Zane

repeat the action at least ten times before he made up his
mind that the Indian was alone in the cave. When he had
satisfied himself of this he took a quick aim at the twisted
tuft of hair and fired. Without waiting to see the result of his
shot — so well did he trust his unerring aim — he climbed down
the steep bank and brushing aside the vines entered the cave.
A stalwart Indian lay in the entrance with his face pressed
down on the vines. He still clutched jn his sinewy fingers the
buckhorn mouthpiece with which he had made the calls that
had resulted in his death.

"Huron," muttered the hunter to himself as he ran the keen
edge of his knife around the twisted tuft of hair and tore off
the scalp-lock.

The cave showed evidence of having been inhabited for some
time. There was a cunningly contrived fireplace made of
stones, against which pieces of birch bark were placed in such
a position that not a ray of light could get out of the cavern.
The bed of black coals between the stones still smoked; a
quantity of parched corn lay on a little rocky shelf which
jutted out from the wall; a piece of jerked meat and a buck
skin pouch hung from a peg.

Suddenly Wetzel dropped on his knees and began examin
ing the footprints in the sandy floor of the cavern. He meas
ured the length and width of the dead warrior's foot. He
closely scrutinized every moccasin print. He crawled to the
opening of the cavern and carefully surveyed the moss.

Then he rose to his feet. A remarkable transformation
had come over him during the last few moments. His face
had changed ; the calm expression was replaced by one sullen
and fierce ; his lips were set in a thin, cruel line, and a strange
light glittered in his eyes.

He slowly pursued a course leading gradually down to the
creek. At intervals he would stop and listen. The strange
voices of the woods were not mysteries to him. They were
more familiar to him than the voices of men.

He recalled that, while on his circuit over the ridge to get
behind the cavern, he had heard the report of a rifle far off in
the di* ction of the chestnut grove, but, as that was a favorite

Betty Zanc ,7

place of the settlers for shooting squirrels, he had not thought
anything of it at the time. Now it had a peculiar significance,
lie turned abruptly from the trail he had been following arid
plunged down the steep hill. Crossing the creek he took to
the cover ot the willows, which grew profusely along the
banks, and striking a sort of bridle path he started on a run.
He ran easily, as though accustomed to that mode of travel^
and his long strides covered a couple of miles in short order.
Coming to the rugged bluff, which marked the end of the
rjdge, he stopped and walked slowly along the edge of the
water. He struck the trail of the Indians where it crossed
the creek, just where he expected. There were several mocca
sin tracks in the wet sand and, in some of the depressions made
by the heels the rounded edges of the imprints were still
smooth and intact. The little pools of muddy water, which
still lay in these hollows, were other indications to his keen
eyes that the Indians had passed this point early that morn
ing.

The trail led up the hill and far into the woods. Never
in doubt the hunter kept on his course ; like a shadow he passed
from tree to tree and from bush to bush ; silently, cautiously,
but rapidly he followed the tracks of the Indians. When
he had penetrated the dark backwoods of the Black Forest, ,
tangled underbrush, windfalls and gullies crossed his path
and rendered fast trailing impossible. Before these almost im
passible barriers he stopped and peered on all sides, studying
the lay of the land, the deadfalls, the gorges, and all the time
keeping in mind the probable route of the redsk.ins. Then
he turned aside to avoid the roughest travelling. Sometimes
these detours were only a few hundred feet long; often they
were miles ; but nearly always he struck the trail again. This
almost superhuman knowledge of the Indian's ways of travers
ing the forest, which probably no man could have possessed
without giving his life to the hunting of Indians, was the one
feature of Wetzel's woodcraft which placed him so far above
other hunters, and made him so dreaded by the savages.

Descending a knoll he entered a glade where the trees grew
farther apart and the underbrush was only knee high. Th«

78 Betty Zanc

black soil showed that the tract of !and had been burned ove*
On the banks of a babbling brook which wound its way through
this open space, the hunter found tracks which brought an
exclamation from him. Clearly defined in the soft earth was
the .impress of a white man's moccasin. The ^..prints of
an Indian toe inward. Those of a white man are just the
opposite. A little farther on Wetzel came to a slight crush
ing of the moss, where he concluded some heavy body had
fallen. As he had seen the tracks of a buck and doe all th«.
way down the brook he thought it probable one of them had
been shot by the white hunter. He found a pool of blood
surrounded by moccasin prints; and from that spot the trail
led straight toward the west, showing that for some reasoc
the Indians had changed their direction.

This new move puzzled the hunter, and he leaned against
the trunk of a tree, while he revolved in his mind the reasons
for this abrupt departure — for such he believed it. The trail
he had followed for miles was the devious trail of hunting
Indians, stealing slowly and stealthily along watching for
their prey, whether it be man or beast. The trail toward the
west was straight as the crow flies ; the moccasin prints that
indented the soil were wide apart, and to an inexperienced
eye looked like the track of one Indian. To Wetzel this indi
cated that the Indians had all stepped in the tracks of a
leader.

As was usually his way, Wetzel decided quickly. Ha had
calculated that there were eight Indians in all, not counting
the chief whom he had shot. This party of Indians had
Cither killed or captured the white man who for! boen hunting.
Wetael believed that a part of the Indians would push on with
all possible speed, leaving some of their number to ambash
the trail or double back on it to see if they were pursued.

An hour of patient waiting, in which he never moved from
his position, proved the wisdom of his judgment. Suddenly,
away at the other end of the grove, he caught a flash of
brown, of a liviner, moving something, like the flitting of a bird
behind a tree. Was it a bird or a squirrel? Then again he
saw it, almost lost in the shade of the forest. Several minutes

BcttyZane 79

passed, in which Wetzel never moved and hardly breathed.
The shadow had disappeared behind a tree. He fixed his
keen eyes on that tree and presently a dark object glided from
it and darted stealthily forward to another tree. One, two,
three dark forms followed the first one. They were Indian
warriors, and they moved so quickly that only the eyes of a
woodsman like Wetzel could have discerned their movements
at that distance.

Probably most hunters would have taken to thejr heels
while there was yet time. The thought did not occur to
Wetzel. He slowly raised the hammer of his rifle. As the
Indians came into plain view he saw they did not suspect his
presence, but were returning on the trail in their customary
cautious manner.

When the first warrior reached a big oak tree some two hun
dred yards distant, the long, black barrel of the hunter's rifle
began slowly, almost imperceptibly, to rise, and as it reached
a level the savage stepped forward from the tree. With the
sharp report of the weapon he staggered and fell.

Wetzel sprang up and knowing that his only escape was
in rapid flight, with his well known yell, he bounded off at
the top of his speed. The remaining Indians discharged their
guns at the fleeing, dodging figure, but without effect. So
rapidly did he dart m and out among the trees that an effec
tual aim was impossible. Then, with loud yells, the Indians,
drawing their tomahawks, started in pursuit, expecting soon
to overtake their victim.

In the early years of his Indian hunting, Wetzel had per
fected himself in a practice which had saved his life many
times, and had added much to his fame. He could reload his
rifle whilt . Aiming at topmost speed. His extraordinary
fleetnes? enabled him to keep ahead of his pursuers until his
riht was reloaded. This trick he now employed. Keeping
up his uneven pace until his gun was ready, he turned quickly
and shot the nearest Indian dead in his tracks. The next In
dian had by this time nearly come up with him and close
enough to throw his tomahawk, which whizzed dangerously
near Wetzel's head. But he leaped forward again and soon

SO Betty Zane

his rifle was reloaded. Every time he looked around the In
dians treed, afraid to face his unerring weapon. After run
ning a mile or more in this manner, he reached an open
space in the woods where he wheeled suddenly on his pur
suers. The foremost Indian jumped behind a tree, but, as it
did not entirely screen his body, he, too, fell a victim to the
hunter's aim. The Indian must have been desperately wound
ed, for his companion now abandoned the chase and went to
his assistance. Together they disappeared in the forest.

Wetzel, seeing that he was no longer pursued, slackened
his pace and proceeded thoughtfully toward the settlement.

That same day, several hours after Wetzel's departure in
quest of the turkey, Alfred Clarke strolled over from the fort
and found Colonel Zane in the yard. The Colonel was indus
triously stirring the contents of a huge copper kettle which
swung over a brisk wood fire. The honeyed fragrance of
apple-butter mingled with the pungent odor of burning
hickory.

"Morning, Alfred, you see they have me at it," was the
Colonel's salute.

"So I observe," answered Alfred, as he seated himself on
the wood-pile. "What is it you are churning so vigorously?"

"Apple-butter, my boy, apple-butter. I don't allow even
Bessie to help when I am making apple-butter."

"Colonel Zane, I have come over to ask a favor. Ever
since you notified us that you intended sending an expedition
up the river I have been worried about my horse Roger. He
is too light for a pack horse, and I cannot take two horses."

"I'll let you have the bay. He is big and strong enough.
That black horse of yours is a beauty. You leave Roger
wHh me and if you never come back I'll be in a fine horse. Ha !
Ha! But, seriously, Clarke, this proposed trip is a hazardous
undertaking, and if you would rather stay - "

"You misunderstand me," quickly replied Alfred, who had
flushed, "I do not care about myself. I'll go and take mj
oiedic.ine. But I'do mind about my horse."

Betty Zane 81

"That's right. Always think of your horses. I'll have Sam
take the best of care of Roger."

"What is the nature of this excursion, and how long shall
we be gone?"

"Jonathan will guide the party. He says it will take sir
weeks if you have pleasant weather. You are to go by wa$
of Short Creek, where you will help put up a blockhouse.
Then you go to Fort Pitt. There you will embark on a raft
with the supplies I need and make the return journey by
water. You will probably smell gunpowder before you get
back."

"What shall we do with the horses?"

"Bring them along with you on the raft, of course."

"That is a new way to travel with horses," said Alfred,
looking dubx>usly at the swift river. "Will there be any
way to get news from Fort Henry while we are away ?"

"Yes, there w.ill be several runners."

"Mr. Clarke, I am going to feed my pets. Would you like
to see them?" asked a voice which brought Alfred to his feet.
He turned and saw Betty. Her dog followed her, carrying
a basket.

"I shall be delighted," answered Alfred. "Have you more
pets than Tige and Madcap?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. I have a bear, six squirrels, one of them
white, and some pigeons."

Betty led the way to an enclosure adjoining Colonel Zane's
barn. It was about twenty feet square, made of pine sap
lings which had been split and driven firmly into the ground.
As Betty took down a bar and opened the small gate a number
of white pigeons fluttered down from the roof of the barn,
several of them alighting on her shoulders. A half-grown
black bear came out of a kennel and shuffled toward her. He
was unmistakably glad to see her, but he avoided going near
Tige, and looked doubtfully at the young man. But after
Alfred had stroked his head and had spoken to him he seemed
disposed to be friendly, for he sniffed around Alfred's knees
and then stood up and put his paws against the young man's
shoulders.

82 Betty Zant

• .' j

"Here, Caesar, get down," said Betty. "He always wanti
to wrestle, especially with anyone of whom he is not suspicious.
He is very tame and will do almost anything. Indeed, you
would marvel at his intelligence. He never forgets an in
jury. If anyone plays a trick on him you may be sure that
person will not get a second opportunity. The night we
caught him Tige chased him up a tree and Jonathan climbed
the tree and lassoed him. Ever since he has evinced a hatred
of Jonathan, and if I should leave Tige alone with him there
would be a terrible fight. But for that I could allow Cassar
to run free about the yard."

"He looks bright and sagacious," remarked Alfred.

"He is, but sometimes he gets into mischief. I nearly died
laughing one day. Bessie, my brother's wife, you know, had
the b.ig kettle on the fire, just as you saw it a moment ago,
only this time she was boiling down maple syrup. Tige was
out with some of the men and I let Caesar loose awhile. If there
is anything he loves it is maple sugar, so when he smelled the
syrup he pulled down the kettle and the hot syrup went all
over his nose. Oh, his howls were dreadful to hear. The
funniest part about it was he seemed to think it was intentional,
for he remained sulky and cross with me for two weeks."

"I can understand your love for animals," said Alfred. "I

think there are many interesting things about wild creatures.

There are comparatively few animals down in Virginia where

I used to live, and my opportunities to study them have been

. limited."

"Here are my squirrels," said Betty, unfastening the door
of a cage. A number of squirrels ran out. Several jumped tc
the ground. One perched on top of the box. Another sprang
on Betty's shoulder.^ "I fasten them up everv night, for I'm
afraid the weasels and foxes will get them. The white squirrel
is the only albino we have seen around here. It took Jonathan
weeks to trap him, but once captured he soon grew tame. Is
he not pretty ?"

"He certainly is. I never saw one before; in fact, I did
not know such a beautiful little animal existed," answered
Alfred, looking in admiratjon at the graceful creature, as he

BettyZane S3

leaped from the she7' to Betty's arm and ate from her hand?
his great, bushy whit'. cail arching over his back and his small
pink eyes shining.

"There! Listen," said Betty. "Look at the fox squirrel,
the big brownish red one. I call him the Captain, because he
always wants to boss the others. I had another fox squirrel,
older than this fellow, and he ran things to suit himself, until
one day the grays united their forces and routed him. I think
they would have killed him had I not freed him. Well, this
one is commencing the same way. Do you hear that odd click
ing noise? That comes from the Captain's teeth, and he is
angry and jealous because I show so much attention to this one.
He always does that, and he would fight too if I were not care
ful. It is a singular fact, though, that the white squirrel has
not even a little pugnacity. He either cannot fight, or he
is too well behaved. Here, Mr. Clarke, show Snowball this
nut, and then hide it in your pocket, and see him find it."

Alfred did as he was told, except that while he pretended
to put the nut in his pocket he really kept it concealed in his
hand.

The pet squirrel leaped lightly on Alfred's shoulder, ran
over his breast, peeped ,in all his pockets, and even pushed
his cap to one side of his head. Then he ran down Alfred's
arm, sniffed in his coat sleeve, arid finally wedged a cold little
nose between his closed fingers.

"There, he has found it, even though you did not play fair,"
said Betty, laughing gaily.

Alfred never forgot the picture Betty made standing there
with the red cap on her dusky hair, and the loving smile upon
her face as she talked to her pets. A white fan-tail pigeon
had alighted on her shoulder and was picking- daintily at the
piece of cracker she held between her lips. The squirrels were
all sitting up, each with a nut in his little paws, and each with
an alert and cunning look in the corner cf his eye, to pre
vent, no doubt, being surprised out of a portion of h.is nut.
Ca?sar was lying en all fours, growling and tearing at his
breakfast, while the dog locked on with a superior air, as if
he knew they would not have had any breakfast but for him.

84 Betty Zan«

"Are you fond of canoeing and fishn • j?" asked Betty, as
they returned to the house.

"Indeed I am. Isaac has taken me out on the river often.
Canoe.ing may be pleasant for a girl, but I never knew one
who cared for fishing."

"Now you behold one. I love dear old Izaak Walton. Of
course, you have read his books?"

"I am ashamed to say I have not."

"And you say you are a fisherman ? Well, you have a great
pleasure in store, as well as an opportunity to learn something
of the 'contemplative man's recreation.' I shall lend you the
books."

"I have not seen a book since I came to Fort Henry."

"I have a fine little library, and you are welcome to any of
mv books. But to return to fishing. I love it, and yet I
nearly always allow the fish to go free. Sometimes I bring
home a pretty sunfish, place him in a tub of water, watch
him and try to tame him. But I must admit failure. It is
the association which makes fishing so delightful. The canoe
gliding down a swift stream, the open air, the blue sky, the
birds and trees and flowers — these are what I love. Come
and see my canoe."

Thus Betty rattled on as she led the way through the sit
ting-room and kitchen to Colonel Zane's magaz.ine and store
house which opened into the kitchen. This little low-roofed hut
contained a variety of things. Boxes, barrels and farming im
plements filled one corner; packs of dried skins were piled
against the wall; some otter and fox pelts were stretched on
the wall, and a number of powder kegs lined a shelf. A slen
der canoe swung from ropes thrown over the rafters. Alfred
slipped it out of the loops and carried it outside.

The canoe was a superb specimen of Indian handiwork. It
had a length of fourteen feet and was made of birch bark,
stretched over a light framework of basswood. The bow
curved gracefully upward, ending in a carved image repre
senting a warrior's head. The sides were beautifully orna
mented and decorated in fanciful Indian designs.

"My brother's Indian guide, Tomepomehala, a

85

chief, made it for me. You see this design on the bow. The
arrow and the arm mean in Ind,ian language, 'The race is to
the swift and the strong.' The canoe is very light. See,
I can easily carry it," said Betty, lifting it from the
grass.

She ran into the house and presently came out with two
rods, a book and a basket.

"These are Jack's rods. He cut them out of the heart of
ten-year-old basswood trees, so he says. We must be careful
of them."

Alfred examined the rods with the eye of a connoisseur and
pronounced them perfect.

"These rods have been made by a lover of the art. Any
one with half an eye could see that. What shall we use for
ba.it?" he said.

"Sam got me some this morning."

"Did you expect to go?" asked Alfred, looking up in sur
prise.

"Yes, I intended going, and as you said you were coming
over, I meant to ask you to accompany me."

"That was kind of you."

"Where are 3rou young people going?" called Colonel Zane,
stopping in his task.

44 We are going down to the sycamore," answered Betty.

"Very well. But be certajn and stay on this side of the
creek and do not go out on the river," said the Colonel.

"Why, Eb, what do you mean? One might think Mr.
Clarke and I were children," exclaimed Betty.

"You certainly aren't much more. But that is not my rea
son. Never mind the reason. Do as I say or do not go,;>
said Colonel Zane.

"All right, brother. I shall not forget," said Betty, soberly,
looking at the Colonel. He had not spoken in his usual teas
ing way, and she was at a loss to understand him. "Come, Mr.
Clarke, you carry the canoe and follow me down this path
and look sharp for roots and stones or you my trip."

"Where is Isaac?" asked Alfred, as he lighly swuner the
Ncanoe over his shoulder.

86 Betty Zane

"He took his rifle and went up to the chestnut grove an
hour or more ago."

A few minutes' walk down the willow skirted path and they
reached the creek. Here it was a narrow stream, hardly fifty
feet wide, shallow, and full of stones over which the clear
brown water rushed noisily.

"Is jt not rather risky going down there?" asked Alfred,
is he noticed the swift current and the numerous boulders
poking treacherous heads just above the water.

"Of course. That is the great pleasure in canoeing," sai<?
Betty, calmly. "If you would rather walk "

"No, I'll go if I drown. I was thinking of you."

"It is safe enough if you can handle a paddle," said Betty,
with a smile at his hesitation. "And, of course, if your partner
in the canoe sits trim."

"Perhaps you had better allow me to use the paddle. Where
did you learn to steer a canoe?"

"I believe you are actually afraid. Why, I was born on
the Potomac, and have used a paddle since I was old enough
to lift one. Come, place the canoe in here and we will keep
to the near shore until we reach the bend. There is a little
fall just below this and I love to shoot it."

He steadied the canoe with one hand while he held out the
other to help her, but she stepped nimbly aboard without his
assistance.

"Wait a moment while I catch some crickets and grass
hoppers."

"Gracious ! What a fisherman. Don't you know we have
had frost?"

"That's so," said Alfred, abashed by her simple remark.

"But you might find some crickets under those logs," said
Betty. She laughed merrjly at the awkward spectacle made
by Alfred crawling over the ground, improvising a sort of
trap out of his hat, and pouncing down on a poor little in
sect.

"Now, get in carefully, and give the canoe a push. There,
we are off," she said, taking up the paddle.

The little bark glided slowly down stream,, at first hugging

Betty Zane 87

the bank as though reluctant to trust itself to the deeper
water, and then gathering headway as a few gentle strokes
of the paddle swerved it into the current. Betty knelt on one
knee and skillfully plied the paddle, using the Indian stroke
in which the paddle was not removed from the water.

"This is great !" exclaimed Alfred, as he leaned back in the
bow facing her. "There is nothing more to be desired. Th,is
beautiful clear stream, the air so fresh, the gold lined banks,
the autumn leaves, a guide who "

"Look," said Betty. "There is the fall over which we must
pass."

He looked ahead and saw that they were swiftly approach
ing two huge stones that reared themselves high out of the
water. They were only a few yards apart and surrounded by
smaller rocks, about which the water rushed white with
foam.

"Please do not move !" cried Betty, her eyes shining bright
with excitement.

Indeed, the situation was too novel for Alfred to do any
thing but feel a keen enjo}-ment. He had made up his mind
that he was sure to get a ducking, but, as he watched Betty's
easy, yet vigorous sweeps with the paddle, and her sm,iling,
yet resolute lips, he felt reassured. He could see that the fall
was not a great one, only a few feet, but one of those glancing
sheets of water like a mill race, and he well knew that if they
struck a stone disaster would be theirs. Twenty feet above
the white-capped wave which marked the fall, Betty gave a
strong forward pull on the paddle, a deep stroke which mo
mentarily retarded their progress even in that swift current,
and then, a short backward stroke, far under the stern of the
canoe, and the Ijttle vessel turned straight, almost in the mid
dle of the course between the two rocks. As she raised her
paddle into the canoe and smiled at the fascinated young man,
the bow dipped, and with that peculiar downward movement,
that swift, exhilarating rush so dearly loved by canoeists,
they shot down the smooth incline of water, were lost for a
moment in a white cloud of mist, and in another they floated
into a placid pool.

88 Betty Zane

"Was not that delightful?" she asked, with just a little con
scious pride glowing in her dark eyes.

"Miss Zane, it was more than that. I apologize for my
suspicions. You have admirable skill. I only wish that on
my voyage down the River of Life I could have such a sure
eye and hand to guide me through the dangerous reefs and
rapids."

"You are poetical," said Betty, who laughed, and at the
same time blushed slightly. "But you are right about the
guide. Jonathan says 'always get a good guide,' and as guid
ing is his work he ought to know. But thjis has nothing in
common with fishing, and here is my favorite place under the
old sycamore."

With a long sweep of the paddle she ran the canoe along
side a stone beneath a great tree which spread its long branches
over the creek and shaded the pool. It was a grand old tree
and must have guarded that sylvan spot for centuries. The
gnarled and knotted trunk was scarred and seamed with the
ravages of time. The upper part was dead. Long limbs ex
tended skyward, gaunt and bare, like the masts of a storm-
beaten vessel. The lower branches were white and shining,
relieved here and there by brown patches of bark which curled
up like old parchment as they shelled away from the inner
bark. The ground beneath the tree was carpeted with a vel
vety moss with little plots of grass and clusters of
maiden-hair fern growing on it. From under an over
hanging rock on the bank a spring of crystal water bubbled
forth.

Alfred rigged up the rods, and baiting a hook directed
Betty to throw her line well out into the current and let it
'float down into the eddy. She complied, and hardly had the
line reached the circle of the eddy, where bits of white foam
floated round and round, when there was a slight splash, a
scream from Betty and she was standing up in the canoe
holding t.ightly to her rod.

"Be careful!" exclaimed Alfred. "Sit down. You will
have the canoe upset in a moment. Hold your rod steadj
and keep the line taut. That's right. Now lead him rounc

Betty Zane 8fc

toward me. There," and grasping the line he lifted a fine
rock bass over the side of the canoe.

"Oh! I always get so intensely excited," breathlessly cried
Betty. "I can't help it. Jonathan always declares he wjll
never take me fishing again. Let me see the fish. It's a gog
gle-eye. Isn't he pretty? Look how funny he bats his eyes,'*
and she laughed gleefully as she gingerly picked up the fish by
the tail and dropped him into the water. "Now, Mr. Goggle-
eye, if you are wise, in future you will beware of tempting
looking bugs."

For an hour they had splendid sport. The pool teemed
with sunfish. The bait would scarcely touch the water when
the little orange colored fellows would rush for it. Now and
then a black bass darted wickedly through the school of sun-
fish and stole the morsel from them. Or a sharp-nosed fiery-
eyed pickerel — vulture of the water — rising to the surface,
and, supreme in his indifference to man or fish, would swim
lazily round until he had discovered the cause of all this com
motion among the smaller fishes, and then, openjng wide his
jaws would take che bait with one voracious snap.

Presently something took hold of Betty's line and moved
out toward the middle of the pool. She struck and the next
instant her rod was bent double and the tip under water.
'Pull your rod up!" shouted Alfred. "Here, hand it to

me."

But it was too late. A surge right and left, a vicious tug
and Betty's line floated on the surface of the water.

"Now, isn't that too bad? He has broken my line. Good-

•/

ness, I never before felt such a strong fish. What shall I do?**
"You should be thankful you were not pulled in. I have
been in a state of fear ever since we commenced fishing. You
move round in this canoe as though it were a raft. Let me
paddle out to that little ripple and try once there; then w«
will stop. I know you are tired."

Near the center of the pool a half submerged rock checked
the current and caused a little ripple of the water. Several
times Alfred had seen the dark shadow of a large fish followed
by a swirl of the water, and the frantic leaping of little bright

90 BettyZane

sided minows in all directions. As his hook, baited with a
lively shiner, floated over the spot, a long, yellow object shot
from out that shaded lair. There was a splash, not unlike that
made by the sharp edge of a paddle impelled by a short, pow
erful stroke, the minnow disappeared, and the broad tail of
the fish flapped on the water. The instant Alfred struck, tht
water boiled and the big fish leaped clear into the air, shaking
himself convulsively to get rid of the hook. He made mad
rushes up and down the pool, under the canoe, into the swift
current and against the rocks, but all to no avail. Steadily
Alfred .increased the strain on the line and gradually it began
to tell, for the plunges of the fish became shorter and less fre
quent. Once again, in a last magnificent effort, he leaped
straight into the air, and failing to get loose, gave up the
struggle and was drawn gasping and exhausted to the side of
the canoe.

"Are you afraid to touch him ?" asked Alfred.

" Indeed I am not," answered Betty.

"Then run your hand gently down the line, slip your fingers
in under his gills and lift him over the side carefully.*'

"Five pounds," exclaimed Alfred, when the fish lay at his
feet. "This is the largest black bass I ever caught. It is a
pity to take such a beautiful fish out of his element."

"Let him go, then. May I?" said Betty.

"No, you have allowed them all to go, even the pickerel,
which I think ought to be killed. We will keep this fellow
alive, and place him in that nice clear pool over in the fort-
yard."

"I like to watch you play a fish," said Betty. "Jonathan
always hauls them right out. You are so skillful. You let
this fish run so far and then you checked him. Then you gave
him a l.ine to go the other way, and no doubt he felt free once
more when you stopped him again."

"You are expressing a sentiment which has been, is, andi
always will be particularly pleasing to the fair sex, I believe,**
observed Alfred, smiling rather grimly as he wound up hi$
.

'Would you mind bejing explicit ?" she questioned.

Betty Zane 91

Alfred had laughed and was about to answer when the whijx
like crack of a rifle rame from the hillside. The echoes of thft
shot reverberated from hill to hill and were finally lost far
down the valley.

"What can that be?" exclaimed Alfred anxiously, recalling
Colonel Zane's odd manner when they were about to leave the
house.

"I am not sure, but I think that is my turkey, unless Lew
Wetzel happened to miss his aim," said Betty, laughing. "And
that is such an unprecedented thing that it can hardly be con
sidered. Turkeys are scarce this season. Jonathan says the
foxes and wolves ate up the broods. Lew heard this turkey
calling and he made little Harry Benntt, who had started out
with his gun, stay at home and went after Mr. Gobbler him
self."

"Is that all? Well, that is nothing to get alarmed about,
is *,t? I actually had a feeling of fear, or a presentiment, we
fright say."

They beached the canoe and spread out the lunch in the
tfhade near the spring. Alfred threw himself at length upon
the grass and Betty sat leaning against the tree. She took a
biscuit in one hand, a pickle in the other, and began to chat
volubly to Alfred of her school life, and of Philadelphia, and
the friends she had made there. At length, remarking his ab
straction, she said: "You are not listening to me."

"I beg your pardon. My thoughts did wander. I was
thinking of my mother. Something about you reminds me
of her. I do not know what, unless it is that little mannerism
you have of pursing up your lips when you hesitate or stop
to think."

"Tell me of her," said Betty, seeing his softened mood.

"My mother was very beautiful, and as good as she was
lovely. I never had a care until my father died. Then she
married again, and as I did not get on with my step-father
I ran away from home. I have not been in Virginia for four
years."

"Do you get homesick ?"

"Indeed I do. While at Fort Pitt I used to have spells

$2 Betty Zan*

of the blues which lasted for days. For a time I felt more
contented here. But I fear the old fever of restlessness will
come over me again. I can speak freely to you because 1
know you will understand, and I feel sure of your sympathy.
My father wanted me to be a minister. He sent me to the
theological seminary at Princeton, where for two years I tried
to study. Then my father died. I went home and looked
after things until my mother married again. That changed
everything for me. I ran away and have since been a wan
derer. I feel that I am not lazy, that I am not afraid of
work, but four years have drifted by and I have nothing to
show for it. I am discouraged. Perhaps that is wrong, but
tell me how I can help it. I have not the stoicism of the hun
ter, Wetzel, nor have I the philosophy of your brother. I
could not be content to sit on my doorstep and smoke my pipe
and watch the wheat and corn grow. And then, this life of
the bordennan, environed as it is by untold dangers, lead?
me, fascinates me, and yet appalls me with the fear that
here I shall fall a victim to an Indian's bullet or spear, and
find a nameless grave."

A long silence ensued. Alfred had spoken quietly, but
with an undercurrent of bitterness that saddened Betty. For
the first time she saw a shadow of pain in his eyes. She
looked away down the valley, not seeing the brown and gold
hills boldly defined against the blue sky, nor the beauty of the
river as the setting sun cast a ruddy glow on the water. Her
companion's words had touched an unknown chord in her
heart. When finally she turned to answer him a beautiful
light shone in her eyes, a light that shines not on land or
sea — the light of woman's hope.

"Mr. Clarke," she said, and her voice was soft and low,
"I am only a girl, but I can understand. You are unhappy.
Try to rise above it. Who knows what will befall this little
settlement? It may be swept away by the savages, and it
may grow to be a mighty city. It must take that chance. So
must you, so must we all take chances. You are here. Find
your work and do it cheerfully, honestly, and let the future
take care of itself. And let me say — do not be offended- -

BcttyZanc 93

beware of idleness and drink. They are as great a danger— ~
nay, greater than the Indians."

"Miss Zane, if you were to ask me not to drink I would
never touch a drop again," said Alfred, earnestly.

"I did not ask that," answered Betty, flushing slightly*
"But I shall remember it as a promise and some day I may
ask it of you."

He looked wonderingly at the girl beside him. He had
spent most of his life among educated and cultured people.
He had passed several years in the backwoods. But wjth
all his experience with people he had to confess that this
young woman was a revelation to him. She could ride like an
Indian and shoot like a hunter. He had heard that she could
run almost as swiftly as her brothers. Evidently she feared
nothing, for he had just seen an example of her courage
in a deed that had tried even his own nerve, and, withal, she
was a bright, happy girl, earnest and true, possessing all
the softer graces of his sisters, and that exquisite touch of
feminine delicacy and refinement which appeals more to men
than any other virtue.

"Have you not met Mr. Miller before he came here from
Fort Pitt?" asked Betty.

"Why do you ask?"

"I think he mentioned something of the kind."

"What else did he say?"

"Why — Mr. Clarke, I hardly remember."

"I see," said Alfred, his face darkening. "He has talked
about me. I do not care what he said. I knew him at Fort
Pitt, and we had trouble there. I venture to say he has told
no one about it. He certainly would not shine in the story,
But I am not a tattler."

"It is not very difficult to see that you do not like him.
Jonathan does not, either. He says Mr. Miller \*as friendly
with McKee, and the notorious Simon Girty, the soldiers
who deserted from Fort Pitt and went to the Indians. The
girls like him, however."

"Usually if a man is good looking and pleasant that is
enough for the girls. I noticed that he paid you a great deal

94s Betty Zane

of attention at the dance. He danced three times with
you."

"Did he? How observing you are," said Betty, giving him
a little sidelong glance. "Well, he is very agreeable, and he
dances better than many of the young men."

"I wonder if Wetzel got the turkey. I have heard nr
more shots," said Alfred, showing plainly that he wished to
change the subject.

"Oh, look there! Quick!" exclaimed Betty, pointing
toward the hillside.

He looked in the direction .indicated and saw a doe and a
spotted fawn wading into the shallow water. The mother
stood motionless a moment, with head erect and long ears ex
tended. Then she drooped her graceful head and drank
thirstily of the cool water. The fawn splashed playfully round
while its mother was drinking. It would dash a fe\y paces
into the stream and then look back to see if its mother ap
proved. Evidently she did not, for she would stop her drink
ing and call the fawn back to her side with a soft, crooning
noise. Suddenly she raised her head, the long cars shot up,
and she seemed to sniff the air. She waded through the
deeper water to get round a rocky bluff which ran out into
the creek. Then she turned and called the little one. The
fawn waded until the water reached its knees, then stopped
and uttered piteous little bleats. Encouraged by the soft
crooning it plunged into the deep water and w,ith great
splashing and floundering managed to swim the. short dis
tance. Its slender legs shook as it staggered up the bank.
Exhausted or frightened, it shrank close to its mother. To
gether they disappeared in the willows which fringed thei
side of the hill.

"Was not that l,ittle fellow cute ? I have had several f awns>
but have never had the heart to keep them," said Betty.
Then, as Alfred made no motion to speak, she continued:

"You do not seem very talkative."

"I have nothing to say. You will think me dull. The
fact is when I feel deepest I am least able to express mysclr."

"I will read to you," said Betty, taking up the book. HP

Betty Zane 9o

lay back against the grassy bank and gazed dreamily at
the many hued trees on the little hillside; at the bare rugged
sides of McColloch's Rock which frowned down upon them.
A silver-breasted eagle sailed slowly round and round in the
blue sky, far above the bluff. Alfred wondered what mys
terious power sustained that solitary bird as he floated high
in the air without perceptible movement of his broad wings.
He envied the king of birds his reign over that illimitable
space, his far-reaching vision, and his freedom. Round and
round the eagle soared, higher and higher, with each per
fect circle, and at last, for an instant poising as lightly as if
he were about to perch on his lonely crag, he arched his wings
and swooped down through the air with the swiftness of a
falling arrow.

Betty's low voice, the water rushing so musically over the
falls, the great yellow leaves falling into the pool, the gentle
breeze stirring the clusters of goldenrod — all came softly to
Alfred as he lay there with half closed eyes.

The time slipped swiftly by as only such time can.

"I fear the melancholy spirit of the day has prevailed upon
you," said Betty, half wistfully. "You did not know I had
stopped reading, and I do not believe you heard my favorite
poem. I have tried to give you a pleasant afternoon and
have failed."

"No, no," said Alfred, looking at her with a blue flame in
his eyes. "The afternoon has been perfect. I have forgotten
my role, and have allowed you to see my real self, something
I have tr.iod to hide from all."

"And are you always sad when you are sincere?"

"Not always. But I am often sad. Is it any wonder? Is
not all nature sad? Listen! There is the song of the oriole.
Breaking in on the stillness it is mournful. The breeze is
sad, the brook is sad, this dying Indian summer day is sad.
Life itself (is sad."

"Oh, no. Life is beautiful."

"You are a child," said he, with a thrill in his deep voice.
"I hope you may always be as you are to-day, in heart, at
least."

95 Betty Zanc

"It grows late. See, the shadows are falling. We must
go"

"You know I am going away to-morrow. I don't want to
go. Perhaps that is why I have been such poor company to
day. I have a presentiment of evil. I am afraid I may never
corne back."

"I am sorry you must go."

"Do you really mean that?" asked Alfred, earnestly, bend
ing toward her. "You know it is a very dangerous under
taking. Would you care if I never returned?53

She looked up and their eyes met. She had raised her
head haughtily, as if questioning his right tc speak to her
in that manner, but as she saw the unspoken appeal in his
eyes her own wavered and fell while a warm color crept into
her cheek.

"Yes, I would be sorry," she said, gravely. Then, after
a moment: "You must portage the canoe round the falls, and
from there we can paddle back to the path."

The return trip made, they approached the house. As
they turned the corner they saw Colonel Zane standing at
the door talking to Wetzel. They saw that the Colonel looked
pale and distressed, and the face of the hunter was dark and
gloomy.

"Lew, did you get my turkey?" said Betty, after a mo
ment of hesitation. A nameless fear filled her breast.

For answer Wetzel threw back the flaps of his coat and
there at his belt hung a small tuft of black hair. Betty
knew at once it was the scalp-lock of an Indian. Her face
turned white and she placed a hand on the hunter's arm.

"What do you mean? That is an Indian's scalp. Lew,
you look so strange. Tell me, is ,it because we went off in the
canoe and have been in danger?"

"Betty, Isaac has been captured again," said the Colonel.

"Oh, no, no, no," cried Betty in agonized tones, and wrinf
ing her hands. Then, excitedly, "Something can be done.
You must pursue them. Oh, Lew, Mr. Clarke, cannot you
rescue him? They have not had time to go far."

"Isaac went to the cLestnut grove this morning. If he

BcttyZanc 97

had staj-ed there he would not have been captured. But he
went far into the Black Forest. The turkey call we heard
across the creek was made by a Wyandot concealed in the
cave. Lewis tells me that a number of Indians have camped
there for days. He shot the one who was calling and followed
the others until he found where they had taken Isaac's
trail."

Betty turned to the younger man with tearful eyes, and
with beseeching voice implored them to save her brother.

"I am ready to follow you," said Clarke to Wetzel.

The hunter shook his head, but did not answer.

"It is that hateful White Crane," passionately burst out
Betty, as the Colonel's wife led her weeping into the house.

"Djd you get more than one shot at them?" asked Clarke.

The hunter nodded, and the slight, inscrutable smile flitted
across his stern features. He never spoke of his deeds. For
this reason many of the thrilling adventures which he must
have had will forever remain unrevealed. That evening there
was sadness at Colonel Zane's supper table. They felt the
absence of the Colonel's usual spirits, his teasing of Betty,
and h,is cheerful conversation. He had nothing to say. Betty
sat at the table a little while, and then got up and left the
room saying she could not eat. Jonathan, on hearing of his
brother's recapture, did not speak, but retired in gloomy si
lence. Silas was the only one of the family who was not
utterly depressed. He said it could have been a great deal
worse ; that they must make the best of it, and that the sooner
Isaac married his Indian Princess the better for his scalp
and for the happiness of all concerned.

"I remember Myeerah very well," he said. "It was eight
years ago, and she was only a child. Even then she was very
proud and willful, and the loveliest girl I ever laid eyes on.*

Alfred Clarke staid late at Colonel Zane's that night.
Before going away for so many weeks he wished to have a
few more moments alone with Betty. But a favorable oppor
tunity did not present itself during the evening, so when he
had bade them all goodbye and goodnight, except Betty, who
opened the door for him, he said softly to her:

98 Betty Za te

"It is bright moonlight outside. Come, please, and valk
to the gate with me."

A full moon shone serenely down on hill and dale, flooding
the valley with its pure white light, and bathing the pastures
in its glory; at the foot of the bluff the waves of the river
gleamed like myriads of stars all twinkling and dancing on
• a bed of snowy clouds. Thus illumined the river wound down
the valley, its brilliance growing fainter and fainter until at
last, resembling the shimmering of a silver thread which joined
the earth to heaven, it disappeared in the horizon.

"I must say goodbye," said Alfred, as they reached the gate.

"Friends must part. I am sorry you must go, Mr. Clarke,
and I trust you may return safe. It seems only yesterday
that you saved my brother's life, and I was so grateful and
happy. Now he is gone."

"You should not think about it so much nor brood over it,"
answered the young man. "Grieving will not bring him back
nor do you any good. It is not nearly so bad as if he had
been captured by some other tribe. Wetzel assures us that
Isaac was taken alive. Please do not grieve."

"I have cried until I cannot cry any more. I am so un
happy. We were children together, and I have always loved
him better than any one since my mother died. To have him
back again and then to lose him ! Oh ! I cannot bear it."

She covered her face with her hands and a low sob escaped
her.

"Don't, don't grieve," he said in an unsteady voice, as he
took the little hands in his and pulled them away from her
face.

Betty trembled. Something in his voice, a tone she had
never heard before startled her. She looked up at him half
unconscious that he still held her hands in his. Never had
she appeared so lovely.

"You cannot understand my feelings."

"I loved my mother."

"But you have not lost her. That makes all the difference."

"I want to comfort you and I am powerless. I aia unable
to say what — I —'

Betty Zane 99

He stopped short. As he stood gazing down into her sweet
face, burning, passionate words came to his lips ; but he was
dumb; he could not speak. All day long he had been living
in a dream. Now he realized that but a moment remained
for him to be near the girl he loved so well. He was leaving
her, perhaps never to see her aga.in, or to return to find her
another's. A fierce pain tore his heart.

"You — you are holding my hands," faltered Betty, in &*
doubtful, troubled voice. She looked up into his face and
saw that it was pale with suppressed emotion.

Alfred was mad indeed. He forgot everything. In that
moment the world held nothing for him save that fair face.
Her eyes, uplifted to his in the moonlight, beamed with a soft
radiance. They were honest eyes, just now filled with inno
cent sadness and regret, but they drew him with irresistible
power. Without realizing in the least what he was doing
he yielded to the impulse. Bending his head he kissed the
tremulous lips.

"Oh," whispered Betty, standing still as a statue and
looking at him with wonderful eyes. Then, as reason re
turned, a hot flush dyed her face, and wrenching her hands
free she struck him across the cheek.

"For God's sake, Betty, I did not mean to do that f Wait.
I have something to tell you. For pity's sake, let me explain,"
he cried, as the full enormity, of his offence dawned upon
him.

Betty was deaf to the imploring voice, for she ran into the
house and slammed the door.

He called to her, but received no answer. He knocked on
the door, but it remained closed. He stood still awhile, try
ing to collect his thoughts, and to find a way to undo the
mischief he had wrought. When the real significance of his
act came to him he groaned in spirit. What a fool he had
been ! Only a few short hours and he must start on a perilous
journey, leaving the girl he loved in ignorance of his real
intentions. Who was to tell her that he loved her? Who
was to tell her that it was because his whole heart and soul
)iad gone to her that he had kissed her?

100 Betty Zane

With bowed head he slowly walked away toward the fort,
totally oblivious of the fact that a young girl, with hands
pressed tightly over her breast to try to still a madly beating
heart, watched him from her window until he disappeared into
the shadow of the block-house.

Alfred paced up and down his room the four remaining
hours of that eventful day. When the light was breaking
in at the east and dawn near at hand he heard the rough
voices of men and the tramping of iron-shod hoofs. The hour
of his departure was at hand.

He sat down at his table and by the aid of the dim light
from a pine knot he wrote a hurried letter to Betty. A little
hope revived in his heart as he thought that perhaps all might
yet be well. Surely some one would be up to whom he could
intrust the letter, and if no one he would run over and slip it
under the door of Colonel Zane's house.

In the gray of the early morning Alfred rode out with the
daring band of heavily armed men, all grim and stern, each
silent with the thought of the man who knows he may never
return. Soon the settlement was left far behind.

CHAPTER V.

URING the last few days, in which the
frost had cracked open the hickory
nuts, and in which the squirrels had
been busily collecting and storing away
their supply of nuts for winter use,
it had been Isaac's wont to shoulder
his rifle, walk up the hill, and spend
the morning in the grove.

On this crisp autumn morning he had
started off as usual> and had been called
back by Col. Zane, who advised him not to wander far from
the settlement. This admonition, kind and brotherly though
it was, annoyed Isaac. Like all the Zanes he had born in
him an intense love for the solitude of the wilderness. There
were times when nothing could satisfy him but the calm of the
deep woods.

One of these moods possessed him now. Courageous to a
fault and daring where daring was not always the wiser part,
Isaac lacked the practical sense of the Colonel arid the cool
judgment of Jonathan. Impatient of restraint, independent
in spirit, and it must be admitted, in his persistence in doin£
as he liked instead of what he ought to do, he resembled Betty
more than he did his brothers.

Feeling secure in hjis ability to take care of himself, for
he knew he was an experienced hunter and woodsman, he re
solved to take a long tramp in the forest. This resolution
was strengthened by the fact that he did not believe what the
Colonel and Jonathan had told him — that it was not improb
able some of the Wyandot braves were lurking in the vicinity,
bent on killing or recapturing him. At any rate he did no!
fear it.

Once in the shade of the great trees the fever of discontent
left him, and, forgetting all except the happiness of being
surrounded by the silent oaks, he penetrated deeper and deeper
into the forest. The brushing of a branch against a tree*

102 Betty Zan*

the thud of a falling nut, the dart of a squirrel, and the sight
of a bushy tail disappearing round a limb — all these things
which indicated that the little gray fellows were working in
the tree-tops, and which would usually have brought Isaac to
a standstill, now did not seem to interest him. At times he
stooped to examine the tender shoots growing at the foot of
a sassafras tree. Then, again, he closely examined marks
he found in the soft banks of the streams.

He went on and on. Two hours of this still-huntinp* found
him on the bank of a shallow gully through which a brook
went rippling and babbling over the mossy green stones. The
forest was dense here; rugged oaks and tall poplars grew
high over the tops of the first growth of white oaks and
beeches; the wild grapevines which coiled round the trees like
gigantic serpents, spread out in the upper branches and ob
scured the sun ; witch-hopples and laurel bushes grew thickly ;
monarchs of the forest, felled by some bygone storm, lay
rotting on the ground; and in places the wind-falls were so
thick and high as to be impenetrable.

Isaac hesitated. He realized that he had plunged far into
the Black Forest. Here it was gloomy; a dreamy quiet pre
vailed, that deep calm of the wilderness, unbroken save for
the distant note of the hermit-thrush, the strange b,ird whose
lonely cry, given at long intervals, pierced the stillness. Al
though Isaac had never seen one of these birds, he was famil
iar with that cry which was never heard except in the deepest
woods, far from the haunts of man.

A black squirrel ran down a tree and seeing the hunter
scampered away in alarm. Isaac knew the habits of the blaclc
squirrel, that it was a denizen of the wildest woods and fre
quented only places remote from civilization. The song of the
hermit and the sight of the black squirrel caused Isaac to stop
and reflect, with the result that he concluded he had gone
much farther from the fort than he had intended. He turned
to retrace his steps when a faint sound from down the ravine
came to his sharp ears.

There was no instinct to warn him that a hideously painted
face was raised a moment over the clump of laurel bushes to

Betty Zane 103

his left, and that a pair of keen eyes watched every move
he made.

Unconscious of impending evil Isaac stopped and looked
around him. Suddenly above the musical babble of the brook
and the rustle of the leaves by the breeze came a repetition of
the sound. He crouched close by the trunk of a tree and
strained his ears. All was quiet for some moments. Then he
heard the patter, patter of little hoofs coming down the
stream. Nearer and nearer they came. Sometimes they were
almost inaudible and again he heard them clearly and dis
tinctly. Then there came a splashing and the faint hollow
sound caused by hard hoofs striking the stones in shallow
water. Finally the sounds ceasod.

Cautiously peering from behind the tree Isaac saw a doe
standing on the bank fifty yards down the brook. Trembling
she had stopped as if in doubt or uncertainty. Her ears
pointed straight upward, and she lifted one front foot from
the ground like a thoroughbred pointer. Isaac knew a doe
always led the way through the woods and if there were other
deer they would come up unless warned by the doe. Pres*
ently the willows parted and a magnificent buck with wide
spreading antlers stepped out and stood motionless on the
bank. Although they were down the wind Isaac knew the
deer suspected some hidden danger. They looked steadily
at the clump of laurels at Isaac's left, a circumstance he re
marked at the time, but did not understand the real signifi
cance of until long afterward.

Following the ringing report of Isaac's rifle the buck
sprang almost across the stream, leaped convulsively up the
bank, reached the top, and then his strength failing, slid
down into the stream, where, in his dying struggles, his hoofs
beat the water into white foam. The doe had disappeared
like a brown flash.

Isaac, congratulating himself on such a fortunate shot— •
for rarely indeed does a deer fall dead in his tracks even
when shot through the heart — rose from his crouching posi
tion and commenced to reload his rifle. With great care he
poured the powder into the palm of his hand, measuring the

104 BettyZane

quantity with his eye — for it was an evidence of a hunter's
skill to be able to get the proper quantity for the ball. Then
he put the charge into the barrel. Placing a little greased
linsey rag, about half an inch square, over the muzzle, he
laid a small lead bullet on it, and with the ramrod began to
push the ball into the barrel.

A slight rustle behind him, which sounded to him like the
gliding of a rattlesnake over the leaves, caused him to start
and turn round. But he was too late. A crushing blow on
the head from a club in the hand of a brawny Indian laid
him senseless on the ground.

When Isaac regained his senses he felt a throbbing pain in
his head, and when he opened his eyes he was so dizzy that he
was unable to discern objects clearly. After a few moments
his sight returned. When he had struggled to a sitting pos
ture he discovered that his hands were bound with buckskin
thongs. By his side he saw two long poles of basswood, with
some strips of green bark and pieces of grapevine laced
across and tied fast to the poles. Evidently this had served as
a litter on which he had been carried. From his wet clothes
and the position of the sun, now low in the west, he concluded
he had been brought across the river and was now miles from
the fort. In front of him he saw three Indians sitting before
a fire. One of them was cutting thin slices from a haunch of
deer meat, another was drinking from a gourd, and the third
was roasting a piece of venison which he held on a sharpened
stick. Isaac knew at once the Indians were Wyandots, and
he saw they were in full war paint. They were not young
braves, but middle aged warriors. One of them Isaac recog
nized as Crow, a chief of one of the Wyandot tribes, and a
warrior renowned for his daring and for his ability to make
his way in a straight line through the wilderness. Crow was
a short, heavy Indian and his frame denoted great strength.
He had a broad forehead, high cheek bones, prominent nose,
and his face would have been handsome and intelligent but
for the scar which ran across his cheek, giving him a sinister
look.

"Hugh P' said Crow, as he looked up and saw Isaac staring

Betty Zane 105

at him. The other Indians immediately gave vent to a like
exclamation.

"Crow, you have caught me again," said Isaac, in the
Wyandot tongue, which he spoke fluently.

"The whjte chief is sure of eye and swift of foot, but he
cannot escape the Huron. Crow has been five times on his
trail since the moon was bright. The white chief's eyes were
shut and his ears were deaf," answered the Indian loftily.

"How long have you been near the fort?"

"Two moons have the warriors of Myeerah hunted the pale
face."

"Have you any more Indians with you?"

The chief nodded and said a party of nine Wyandots had
been in the vicinity of Wheeling for a month. He named
some of the warriors.

Isaac was surprised to learn of the renowned chiefs who
had been sent to recapture him. Not to mention Crow, the
Delaware chiefs Son-of-Wingenund and Wapatomeka were
among the most cunning and sagacious Indians of the west.
Isaac reflected that his year's absence from Myeerah had not
caused her to forget him.

Crow untied Isaac's hands and gave him water and venison.
Then he picked up h,is rifle and with a word to the Indians
he stepped into the underbrush that skirted the little dale, and
was lost to view.

Isaac's head ached and throbbed so that after he had satis
fied his thirst and hunger he was glad to close his eyes and
lean back against the tree. Engrossed in thoughts of the
home he might never see again, he had lain there ai^hour
without moving, when he was aroused from his meditations
by low gutteral exclamations from the Indians. Opening his
eyes he saw Crow and another Indian enter the glade, leading
and half supporting a third savage.

They helped this Indian to the log, where he sat down
slowly and wearily, holding one hand over his breast. He
was a magnificent specimen of Indian manhood, almost a giant
in stature, with broad shoulders in proportion to his height.
His head-dress and the gold rings which encircled his bare

106 Betty Zane

muscular arms indicated that he was a chief high in power.
The seven eagle plumes in his scalp-lock represented seven
warriors that he had killed in battle. Little sticks of wood
plaited in his coal black hair and painted different colors
showed to an Indian eye how many times this chief had been
wounded by bullet, knife, or tomahawk.

His face was calm. If he suffered he allowed no sign of it
to escape him. He gazed thoughtfully into the fire, slowly
the while untying the belt which contained his knife and toma
hawk. The weapons were raised and held before him, one
hi each hand, and then waved on high. The action was re
peated three times. Then slowly and reluctantly the Indian
lowered them as if he knew their work on earth was done.

It was growing dark and the bright blaze from the camp
fire lighted up the glade, thus enabling Isaac to see the droop
ing figure on the log, and in the background Crow, holding
a whispered consultation with the other Indians. Isaac heard
enough of the colloquy to guess the facts. The chief had
been desperately wounded; the palefaces were on their trajl,
and a march must be commenced at once.

Isaac knew the wounded chief. He was the Delaware Son-
of-Wingenund. He married a Wyandot squaw, had spent
much of his time in the Wyandot village and on warring ex
peditions which the two friendly nations made on other tribes.
Isaac had hunted with him, slept under the same blanket w.ith
him, and had grown to like him.

As Isaac moved slightly in his position the chief saw him.
He straightened up, threw back the hunting shirt and pointed
to a small hole in h,is broad breast. A slender stream of blood
issued from the wound and flowed down his chest.

"Wind-of-Death is a great white chief. His gun is always
loaded," he said calmly, and a look of pride gleamed across
his dark face, as though he gloried in the wound made by such
a warrior.

"Deathwind" was one of the many names given to Wetzel
by the savages, and a thrill of hope shot through Isaac's
heart when he saw the Indians feared Wetzel was on their
track. This hope was short lived, however, for when he con-

Betty Zane 107

sidered the probabilities of the thing he knew that pursuit
would only result in his death before the settlers could come
up with the Indians, and he concluded that Wetzel, familiar
with every trick of the redmen would be the first to think of
the hopelessness of rescuing him and so would not attempt it.

The four Indians now returned to the fire and stood beside
the chief. It was evident to them that his end was imminent.
'He sang in a low, not unmusical tone the death-chant cf the
Hurons. His companions silently bowed their heads. When
he had finished singing he slowly rose to his great height,
showing a commanding figure. Slowly his features lost their
stern pride, his face softened, and his dark eyes, gczing
straight into the gloom of the forest, bespoke a superhuman
vision.

"Wingenund has been a great chief. He has crossed his last
trail. The deeds of Wingenund will be told in the wigwams
of the Lenape,'? said the chief in a loud voice, and then sank
back into the arms of his comrades. They laid him gently
down.

A convulsive shudder shook the stricken warrior's frame.
Then, starting up he straightened out his long arm and
clutched wildly at the air with his sinewy fingers as if to grasp
and hold the life that was escaping him.

Isaac could see the fixed, sombre light in the eyes, and the
pallor of death stealing over the face of the chief. He
turned his eyes away from the sad spectacle, and when he
looked again the majestic figure lay still.

The moon sailed out from behind a cloud and shed its
mellow light down on the little glade. It showed the four
Indians digging a grave beneath the oak tree. No word was
spoken. They worked with their tomahawks on the soft duff
and soon their task was completed. A bed of moss and ferns
lined the last resting place of the chief. His weapons were
placed beside him, to go with him to the Happy Hunting
Ground, the eternal home of the redmen, where the redmen
believe the sun will always shine, and where they will be free
from their cruel white foes.

When the grave had been filled and the log rolled on it the

108 Betty Zanc

Indians stood by it a moment, each speaking a few words in a
low tone, while the night wind moaned the dead chieFs re
quiem through the tree tops.

Accustomed as Isaac was to the bloody conflicts common
to the Indians, and to the tragedy that surrounded the life of
a borderman, the ghastly sight had unnerved him. The last
glimpse of that stern, dark face, of that powerful form, as
the moon brightened up the spot in seeming pity, he felt he
could never forget. His thoughts were interrupted by the
harsh voice of Crow bidding him get up. He was told that the
slightest inclination on his part to lag behind on the march
before them, or in any way to make their trail plainer, would
be the signal for his death. With that Crow cut the thongs
which bound Isaac's legs and placing him between two of the
Indians, led the way into the forest.

Moving like spectres in the moonlight they marched on and
on for hours. Crow was well named. He led them up the
stony ridges where their footsteps left no mark, and where
even a dog could not find their trail; down into the valleys
and .into the shallow streams where the running water would
soon wash away all trace of their tracks ; then out on the open
plain, where the soft, springy grass retained little impress
of their moccasins.

Single file they marched in the leader's tracks as he led them
onward through the dark forests, out under the shining moon,
never slacking his rapid pace, ever in a straight line, and
yet avoiding the roughest going with that unerring instinct
which was this Indian's gift. Toward dawn the moon went
down, leaving them in darkness, but this made no difference,
for, guided by the stars, Crow kept straight on his course.
Not till break of day did he come to a halt.

Then, on the banks of a narrow stream, the Indians kindled
a fire and broiled some of the venison. Crow told Isaac he
could rest, so he made haste to avail himself of the permission,
and almost instantly was wrapped in the deep slumber of ex
haustion. Three of the Indians followed suit, and Crow stood
guard. Sleepless, tireless, he paced to and fro on the bank
his keen eyes vigilant for signs of pursuers.

Betty Zane 109

The sun was high when the party resinned their flight to
ward the west. Crow plunged into the brook and waded sev
eral miles before he took to the woods on the other shore,,
Isaac suffered severely from the sharp and slippery stones,
which in no wise bothered the Indians. His feet were cut and
bruised; still he struggled on without complaining. They
rested part of the night, and the next day the Indians, now
deeming themselves practically safe from pursuit, did not
exercise unusual care to conceal their trail.

That evening about dusk they came to a rapidly flowing
stream which ran northwest. Crow and one of the other In
dians parted the willows on the bank at this point and dragged
forth a long birch-bark canoe which they ran into the stream.
Isaac recognized the spot. It was near the head of Mad
River, the river which ran through the Wyandot settle
ments.

Two of the Indians took the bow, the third Indian and
Isaac sat in the middle, back to back, and Crow knelt in the
stern. Once launched on that wild ride Isaac forgot his wear
iness and his bruises. The night was beautiful; he loved the
water, and was not lacking in sentiment. He gave himseJf
up to the charm of the silver moonlight, of the changing scen
ery, and the musical gurgle of the water. Had it not been foi
the cruel face of Crow, he could have imagined himself on one
of those enchanted canoes in fairyland, of which he had read
when a boy. Ever varying pictures presented themselves a3
the ~anoe, impelled by vigorous arms, flew over the shining
bosom of the stream. Here, in a sharp bend, was a narrow
place where the trees on each bank interlaced their branches
and hid the moon, making a dark and dim retreat. Ther
came a short series of ripples, with merry, bouncing waves
and foamy currents ; below lay a long, smooth reach of water,
deep and placid, mirroring the moon and the countless stars*
Noiseless as a shadow the canoe glided down this stretch, the
paddle dipping regularly, flashing brightly, and scattering
diamond drops in the clear moonlight.

Another turn in the stream and a sound like the roar of an
approaching storm as it is borne on a rising wind, broke the

110 Betty Zanc

silence. It was the roar of rapids or falls. The stream nar
rowed ; the water ran swifter ; rocky ledges rose on both sides,
gradually getting higher and higher. Crow rose to his feet
and looked ahead. Then he dropped to his knees and turned
the head of the canoe into the middle of the stream. The
roar became deafening. Looking forward Isaac saw that they
were entering a dark gorge. In another moment the canoe
pitched over a fall and shot between two high, rocky bluffs.
These walls ran up almost perpendicularly two hundred feet ;
the space between was scarcely twenty feet wide, and the
water fairly screamed as it rushed madly through its narrow
passage. In the center it was like a glancing sheet of glass,
weird and dark, and was bordered on the sides by white,
seething foam-capped waves which tore and dashed and
leaped at their stony confines.

Though the danger was great, though Death lurked in
those jagged stones and in those black walls Isaac felt no fear;
he knew the strength of that arm, now rigid and again mov
ing with lightning swiftness ; he knew the power of the eye
which guided them.

Once more out under the starry sky ; rifts, shallows, narrows,
and lake-like basins were passed swiftly. At length as the
sky was becoming gray in the east, they passed into the
shadow of what was called the Standing Stone. This was a
peculiarly shaped stone-faced bluff, standing high over the
river, and taking its name from Tarhe, or Standing Stone,
chief of all the Hurons.

At the first sight of that well known landmark, which stood
by the Wyandot village, there mingled with Isaac's despon
dency and resentment some other feeling that was akin to
pleasure; with a quickening of the pulse came a confusion
of expectancy and bitter memories as he thought of the dark
eyed maiden from whom he had fled a year ago.

"Co-wee-Co-wee," called out one of the Indians in the bow
of the canoe. The signal was heard, for immediately an
answering shout came from the shore.

When a few moments later the canoe grated softly upon
a pebbly beach, Isaac saw, indistinctly in the morning mist.

Betty Zane 111

the faint outlines of tepees and wigwams, and he knew he was
once more in the encampment of the Wyandots.

Late in the afternoon of that day Isaac was awakened
from his heavy slumber and told that the chief haft summoned
him. He got up from the buffalo robes upon which he had
flung himself that morning, stretched his aching Hmbs9 and
walked to the door of the lodge.

The view before him was so familiar that it soemed as if
he had suddenly come home after being absent . long time.
The last rays of the setting sun shone ruddy and bright over
the top of the Standing Stone; they touched the scores of
lodges and wigwams which dotted the little valley ; they crim
soned the swift, narrow river, rushing noisily over its rocky
bed. The banks of the stream were lined with rows of canoes ;
here and there a bridge made of a single tree spanned the
stream. From the camp fires long, thin columns of blue smoke
curled lazily upward; giant maple trees, in their garb of pur
ple and gold, rose high above the wigwams, ad' ling a further
beauty to this peaceful scene.

As Isaac was led down a lane between twc long lines of
tepees the watching Indians did not make the demonstration
that usually marked the capture of a paleface. Some of the
old squaws looked up from the.ir work round the campfires
and steaming kettles and grinned as the prisoner* passed. The
braves who were sitting upon their blankets and smoking their
long pipes, or lounging before the warm blazes maintained,
a stolid indifference; the dusky maidens smiled shyly, and
the little Indian boys, with whom Isaac had always been a
great favorite, manifested their joy by yelling #«d running
after him. One youngster grasped Isaac round the leg and
held on until he was pulled away.

In the center of the village were several lodges connected
with one another and larger and more imposing than the sur
rounding tepees. These were the wigwams of the chief, and
thither Isaac was conducted. The guards led him to a large
and circular apartment and left Kim there alone. This room

112 Betty Zanc

was the council-room. It contained nothing but a low seat
and a knotted war-club.

Isaac heard the rattle of beads and bear claws, and as he
turned a tall and majestic Indian entered the room. It was
Tarhe, the chief of all the Wyandots. Though Tarhe was
over seventy, he walked erect ; his calm face, dark as a bronze
mask, showed no> trace of his advanced age. Every line and
feature of his face had race in it ; the high forehead, the square,
protruding jaw, the stern mouth, the falcon eyes — all denoted
the pride and unbending will of the last of the Tarhes.

"The White Eagle is again in the power of Tarhe," said
the chief in his native tongue. "Though he had the swiftness
of the bounding deer or the flight of the eagle it would avail
him not. The wild geese as they fly northward are not swifter
than the warriors of Tarhe. Swifter than all is the vengeance
of the Huron. The young paleface has cost the lives of some
great warriors. What has he to say?"

"It was not my fault," answered Isaac quickly. "I was
struck down from behind and had no chance to use a weapon.
I have never raised my hand against a Wyandot. Crow will
tell you that. If my people and friends kill your braves I
am not to blame. Yet I have had good cause to shed Huron
blood. Your warriors have taken me from my home and have
wounded me many times."

"The White Chief speaks well. Tarhe believes his words,"
answered Tarhe in his sonorous voice. "The Lenapee seek the
death of the pale face. Wingenund grieves for his son. He
is Tarhe's friend. Tarhe is old and wise and he is king here
He can save the White Chief from Wingenund and Corn,
planter. Listen. Tarhe is old and he has no son. He wiL
make you a great chief and give you lands and braves and
honors. He shall not ask you to raise your hand against
your people, but help to bring peace. Tarhe does not love
this war. He wants only justice. He wants only to keep
his lands, his horses, and his people. The White Chief is
known to be brave ; his step is light, his eye is keen, and his
bullet is true. For many long moons Tarhe's daughter has
been like the singing bird without its mate. She sings no

THE WILD NIGHT RIDE.

Betty Zane 113

more. She shall be the White Chief's wife. She has the
blood of her mother and not that of the last of the Tarhes.
Thus the mistakes of Tarhe's youth come to disappoint his
old age. He is the friend of the young paleface. Tarhe has
said. Now go and make your peace with Myeerah."

The chief motioned toward the back of the lodge. Isaac
stepped forward and went through another large room, evi
dently the chief's, as it was fitted up with a wild and barbaric
splendor. Isaac hesitated before a bearskin curtain at the
farther end of the chief's lodge. He had been there many
times before, but never with such conflicting emotions. What
was it that made his heart beat faster? With a quick move
ment he lifted the curtain and passed under it.

The room which he entered was circular in shape and fur
nished with all the bright colors and luxuriance known to the
Indian. Buffalo robes covered the smooth, hard -packed clay
floor; animals, allegorical pictures, and fanciful Indian de
signs had been painted on the wall; bows and arrows, shields,
strings of bright-colored beads and Indian scarfs hung
round the room. The wall was made of dried deerskins sewed
together and fastened over long poles which were planted in
the ground and bent until the ends met overhead. An oval-
shaped opening let in the light. Through a narrow aperture,
which served as a door leading to a smaller apartment, could
be seen a low 'couch covered with red blankets, and a glimpse
of many hued garments hanging on the wall.

As Isaac entered the room a slender maiden ran impulsively
to him and throwing her arms round his neck hid her face on
his breast. A few broken, incoherent words escaped her lipse
Isaac disengaged himself from the clinging arms and put
her from him. The face raised to his was strikingly beautiful.
Oval in shape, it was as white as his own, with a broad, low
brow and regular features. The eyes were large and dark
ai,d they dilated and quickened with a thousand shadows of
thought.

"Myeerah, I am taken again. This time there has been
blood shed. The Delaware chief was killed, and I do not
\now how many more Indians. The chiefs are all for putting

1U Betty Zanc

me to death. I am in great danger. Why could you not
leave me in peace?"

At his first words the maiden sighed and turned sorrowfully
and proudly a^vvay from the angry face of the young man.
A short silence ensued.

"Then you are not glad to see Myeerah?" she said, in En
glish. Her voice was music. It rang low, sweet, clear-toned
as a bell.

"What has that to do with it? Under some circumstances
I would be glad to see you. But to be dragged back here
and perhaps murdered — no, I don't welcome it. Look at this
mark where Crow hit me," said Isaac, passionately, bowing
his head to enable her to see the bruise where the club had
•truck him.

"I am sorry," said Myeerah, gently.

"I know that I am in great danger from the Delawares."

"The daughter of Tarhe has saved your life before and will
save it again."

"They may kill me in spite of you."

"They will not dare. Do not forget that I saved yon from
the Shawnees. What did my father say to you?"

"He assured me that he was my friend and that he would
protect me from Wingenund. But I must marry you and
become one of the tribe. I cannot do that. And that i* why
I am sure they will kill me."

"You are angry now. I will tell you. Myeerah tried hard
to win your love, and when you ran away from her she wa£
proud for a long time. But there was no singing of birds, no
music of the waters, no beauty in anything after you left
her. Life became unbearable without you. Then Myeerah
remembered that she was a daughter of kings. She sum
moned the bravest and greatest warriors of two tribes and
said to them. 'Go and bring to me the paleface, White Eagle.
Bring him to me alive or dead. If alive, Myeerah will smile
once more upon her warriors. If dead, she will look once
upon his face and dje.' Ever since Myeerah was old enough
to remember she has thought of you. Would you wish her
to be inconstant, like the moon?9'

Betty Zane 115

"It is not what I wish you to be. It is that I cannot live
'*. always without seeing my people. I told you that a year

• "You told me other things in that past time before you ran
away. They were tender words that were sweet to the ear of
the Indian maiden. Have you forgotten them?"

"I have not forgotten them. I am not without feeling.
You do not understand. Since I have been home this last time'
I have realized more than ever that I could not live away from
my home."

"Is th°re any maiden in your old home whom you have
learned fo love more than Myeerah?"

He did not reply, but looked gloomily out of the opening
in the wall. Myeerah had placed her hand upon his arm, and
as he did not answer the hand tightened its grasp.

"She shall never have you."

The low tones vibrated with intense feeling, with a death
less resolve. Isaac laughed bitterly and looked up at her.
Myeerah's face was pale and her eyes burned like fire.

"I should not be surprised if you gave me up to the Dela-
wares," said Isaac, coldly. "I am prepared for it, and I
would not care very much. I have despaired of your ever
becoming civilized enough to understand the misery of my
sister and family. Why not let the Indians kill me?"

He knew how to wound her. A quick, shuddering cry broke
from her lips. She stood before him with bowed head and
wept. When she spoke again her voice was broken and plead
ing.

"You are cruel and unjust. Though Myeerah has Indian1
blood she is a white woman. She can feel as your people do.
In your anger and bitterness you forget that Myeerah saved
you from the knife of the Shawnees. You forget her tender
ness ; you forget that she nursed you when you were wounded.
Myeerah has a heart to break. Has she not suffered? Is sht
not laughed at, scorned, called a 'paleface' by the other tribes?
She thanks the Great Spirit for the Indian blood that keeps
her true. )^The white man changes his loves and his wives.
That is not an Indian gift."

4

Betty Zane

"No, Myeerah, I did not say so. There is no other woman.
It is that I am wretched and sick at heart. Do you not see
that this will end in a tragedy some day? Can you not realize
that we would be happier if you would let me go? If you
love me you would not want to see me dead. If I do not
marry you they will kill me ; if I try to escape again they will
kill me. Let me go free."

"I cannot! I cannot!" she cried. "You have taught me
many of the ways of your people, but you cannot change my
nature."

"Why cannot you free me?"

"I love you, and I will not live without you."

"Then come and go to my home and live there with me,"
said Isaac, taking the weeping maiden in his arms. "I know
that my people will welcome you."

"Myeerah would be pitied and scorned," she said, sadly,
shaking her head.

Isaac tried hard to steel his heart against her, but he was
only mortal and he failed. The charm of her presence in
fluenced him; her Lvt> wru+jg tenderness from him. Those
dark eyes, so proud to all others, but which gazed wistfully
and yearningly into his, stirred his heart to its depths. He
kissed the tear-wet cheeks and smiled upon her.

"Well, since I am a prisoner once more, I must make the
best of it. Do not look so sad. We shall talk of this another
day. Come, let us go and find my little friend, Captain Jack.
He remembered me, for he ran out and grasped my knee and
they pulled him away."

CHAPTER VI.

HEN the first French explorers in
vaded the northwest, about the year
1615, the Wyandot Indians occu
pied the territory between Georgian
Bay and the Muskoka Lakes in On
tario. These Frenchmen named the
tribe Huron because of the manner
in which they wore their hair.

At this period the Hurons were at
war with the Iroquois, and the two
fribes kept up a bitter fight until in 1649, when the Hurons
suffered a decisive defeat. They then abandoned their vil*
lages and sought other hunting grounds. They travelled
south and settled in Ohio along the south and west shores of
Lake Erie. The present site of Zanesfield, named from Isaac
Zane, marks the spot where the largest tribe of Hurons once
lived.

In a grove of maples on the banks of a swift little river
named Mad River, the Hurons bujlt their lodges and their
wigwams. The stately elk and graceful deer abounded in
this fertile valley, and countless herds of bison browsed upon
the uplands.

There for many years the Hurons lived a peaceful and
contented life. The long war cry was not heard. They were
at peace with the neighboring tribes. Tarhe, the Huron
chief, attained great influence with the Delawares. He be
came a friend of Logan, the Mingo chief.

With the invasion of the valley of the Ohio by the whites,
with the march into the wilderness of that wild-turkey breed
of heroes of which Boone, Kenton, the Zanes, and the Wetzels
were the first, the Indian's nature gradually changed until
he became a fierce and relentless foe.

The Hurons had sided with the French in Pontiac's war,
and in the Revolution they aided the British. They allied
themselves with the Mingoes, Delawares and Shawnees and

117

118 Betty Zanc

made a fierce war on the Virginian pioneers. Some powerful
influence must have engendered this implacable hatred in
these tribes, particularly in the Mingo and the Wyandot.

The war between the Indians and the settlers along the
Pennsylvania and West Virginia borders was known as "Dun-
rnore's War." The Hurons, Mingoes, and Delawares living in
the "hunter's paradise" west of the Ohio River, seeing their
land sold by the Iroquois and the occupation of their posses
sions by a daring band of white men naturally were filled
with fierce anger and hate. But remembering the past bloody
war and British punishment they slowly moved backward to
ward the setting sun and kept the peace. In 1774 a canoe
filled with friendly Wyandots was attacked by white men be
low Yellow Creek and the Indians were killed. Later the
same year a party of men under Colonel Cresop made an un
provoked and dastardly massacre of the family and relatives
of Logan. This attack reflected thev deepest dishonor upon
all the white men concerned, and was the principal cause of
the long and bloody war which followed. The settlers on the
border sent messengers to Governor Dunmore at Williams-
burg for immediate relief parties. Knowing well that the In
dians would not allow this massacre to go unavenged the
frontiersmen erected forts and blockhouses.

Logan, the famous Mingo chief, had been a noted friend
of the white men. After the murder of his people he made
ceaseless war upon them. He incited the wrath of the Hurons
and the Delawares. He went on the warpath, and when his
lust for vengeance had been satisfied he sent the following
remarkable address to Lord Dunmore :

"I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Lo
gan's cabin and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold
and naked and he clothed him not. During the course of the
last long and bloody war Logan remained idle in his cabin,
An advocate of peace. Such was my love for the whites that
my countrymen pointed as they passed and said: 'Logan is
the friend of the white man.' I had even thought to have
lived with you but for the injuries of one man, Colonel Cresop,
'rho, last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all

Betty Zane 119

the relatives of Logan, not even sparing my women and chil
dren. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any
living creature. This called upon me for vengeance. I
have sought it; I have killed many; I have glutted my ven
geance. For my country I will rejoice at the beams of peace.
But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear.
Logan never felt fear; he would not turn upon his heel to
save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one."
The war between the Indians and the pioneers was
waged for years. The settlers pushed farther and farther
into the wilderness. The Indians, who at first sought only
to save their farms and their stock, now fought for revenge.
That is why every ambitious pioneer who went out upon those
borders carried his life in his hands; why there was always
the danger of being shot or tomahawked from behind every
tree; why wife and children were constantly in fear of the
terrible enemy.

To creep unawares upon a foe and strike him in the dark
was Indian warfare ; to an Indian it was not dishonorable ; it
was not cowardly. He was taught to hide in the long grass
like a snake, to shoot from coverts, to worm his way stealthily
through the dense woods and to ambush the paleface's trail.
Horrible cruelties, such as torturing white prisoners and burn
ing them at the stake were never heard of before the war made
upon the Indians by the whites.

Comparatively little is known of the real character of the
Indian of that time. We ourselves sit before our warm fires
and talk of the deeds of the redman. We while away an hour
by reading Pontiac's siege of Detroit, of the battle of Brad-
dock's fields, and of Ouster's last charge. We lay the book
down with a fervent expression of thankfulness that the day
of the horrible redman is past. Because little has been written
on the subject, no thought is given to the long years of deceit
and treachery practiced upon Pontiac; we are ignorant of
the causes which led to the slaughter of Braddock's army;
and we know little of the life of bitterness suffered by Sitting
Bull.

Many intelligent white men, who were acquainted with the

120 Betty Zane

true life of the Indian before he was harrassed and driven to
desperation by the pioneers, said that he had been cruelly
wronged. Many white men in those days loved the Indian
life so well that they left the settlements and lived with the
Indians. Boone, who knew the Indian nature, said the honesty
and the simplicity of the Indian were remarkable. Ken-
ton said he had been happy among the Indians. Col. Zane

lad many Indian friends. Isaac Zane, who lived most of his
\ife with the Wyandots, said the American redman had been
wrongfully judged a bloodthirsty savage, an ignorant, thiev
ing wretch, capable of not one virtue. He said the free pic
turesque life of the Indians would have appealed to any white
man ; that it had a wonderful charm ; and that before the war
with the whites the Indians were kind to their prisoners, and
sought only to make Indians of them. He told tales of how
easily white boys become Indianized, so attached to the wild
life and freedom of the redmen that it was impossible to get
the captives to return to civilized life. The boys had been
permitted to grow wild with the Indian lads ; to fish and shoot
and swim with them ; to play the Indian games — to live idle,
joyous lives. He said these white boys had been ransomed
and taken from captivity and returned to their homes and.
although a close watch was kept on them, they contrived to
escape and return to the Indians, and that while they were
back among civilized people it was difficult to keep the boys
dressed. In summer time it was useless to attempt it. The
strongest hemp-linen shirts, made with the strongest collar
and wrist-band, would directly be torn off and the little rascals
''ound swimming in the river or rolling on the sand.

If we may believe what these men have said — and there

eems no good reason why we may not — the Indian was very
different from the impression given of him. There can be
little doubt that the redman once lived a noble and blameless
life ; that he was simple, honest and brave ; that he had a re
gard for honor and a respect for a promise far exceeding that
of most white men. Think of the beautiful poetry and legends
left by these silent men : men who were a part of the woods ;
jnen whose music was the sighing of the wind, the rustling of

Betty zane 121

the leaf, the murmur of the brook; men whose simple joys
were the chase of the stag, and the light in the dark eye of
a maiden.

If we wish to find the highest type of the American Indian
we must look for him before he was driven west by the land-
seeking pioneer and before he was degraded by the rum-
selling French trader.

The French claimed all the land watered by the Mississippi
.River and its tributaries; The French Canadian was a rest
less, roaming adventurer and he found his vocation in the
fur-tra^c. This fur-trade engendered a strange class of men
— bush-rangers they were called — whose work wras to paddle
the canoe along the lakes and streams and exchange their
cheap rum for the valuable furs of the Indians. To these men
the Indians of the west owe their degradation. These bush
rangers or coureurs-des-bois, perverted the Indians and sank
into barbarism with them.

The few travellers there in those days were often surprised
to find in the wigwams of the Indians men who acknowledged
the blood of France, yet who had lost all semblance to the
white man. They lived in their tepee with their Indian squaws
and lolled on their blankets while the squaws cooked their
venison and did all the work. They let their hair grow long
and wore feathers in it; they painted their faces hideously
with ochre and vermilion.

These were the worthless traders and adventurers who, from
the year 1748 to 1783, encroached on the hunting grounds
of the Indians and explored the wilderness, seeking out the
remote tribes and trading the villainous rum for the rare pelts.
Tn 1784 the French authorities, realizing that these vagrants
were demoralizing the Indians, warned them to get aff the
soil. Finding this course ineffectual they arrested those that
could be apprehended and sent them to Canada. But it was
too late : the harm had been done ; the poor, ignorant savage
had tasted of the terrible "fire-water," as he called the runij
and his ruin was inevitable.

It was a singular fact that almost every Indian who had
once tasted strong drink, was unable to resist the desire for

Betty Zane

more. When a trader came to one of the Indian hamlets the
braves purchased a keg of rum and then they held a council
to see who was to get drunk and who was to keep sober. It
was necessary to have some sober Indians in camp, otherwise
the drunken braves would kill one another. The weapons
would have to be concealed. When the Indians had finished
one keg of rum they would buy another, and so en until no*
a beaver-skin was left. Then the trader would move or
When the Indians sobered up they would be much dejected,
for invariably they would find that some had been ^younded,
others crippled, and often several had been killed.

Logan, using all his eloquence, travelled from village to
Village visiting the different tribes and making speeches. He
Urged the Indians to shun the dreaded "fire-water." He ex
claimed against the whites for introducing liquor to the In
dians and thus debasing them. At the same time Logan ad
mitted his own fondness for rum. This intelligent and noble
Indian was murdered in a drunken fight shortly after sending
his address to Lord Dunmore.

Thus it was that the poor Indians had no chance to avert
the.ir downfall; the steadily increasing tide of land-stealing
settlers rolling westward, and the insiduous, debasing, soul-
destroying liquor were the noble redman's doom.

*********

Isaac Zane dropped back not altogether unhappily into his
old place in the wigwam, in the hunting parties, and in the
Indian games.

When the braves were .in camp, the greater part of the day
was spent in shooting and running matches, in canoe races, in
wrestling, and in the game of ball. The chiefs and the older
braves who had won their laurels and the maidens of the tribe
looked on and applauded.

Isaac entered into all these pastimes, partly because he had
a natural love for them, and partly because he wished to win
the regard of the Indians. In wrestling, and in those sports
which required weight and endurance, he usually suffered de
feat. In a foot race there was not a brave in the entire tribe
who could keep even with him. But it was with the rifle that

Betty Zane

Isaac won his greatest distinction. The Indians never learned
the finer shooting with the rifle. Some few of them could
shoot well, but for the most part they were poor marksmen.

Accordingly, Isaac was always taken on the fall hunt*
Every autumn there were three parties sent out to bring in
the supply of meat for the winter. Because of Isaac's fine
marks manship he was always taken with the bear hunters*
Bear hunting was exciting and dangerous work. Before the
weather got very cold and winter actually set in the bears
crawled into a hole in a tree or a cave in the rocks, where
they hibernated. A favorite place for them was in hollow
trees. When the Indians found a tree with the scratches of
a bear on it and a hole large enough to admit the body of a
bear, an Indian climbed up the tree and with a long pole
tried to punch Bruin out of his den. Often this was a hazard
ous undertaking, for the bear would get angry on being dis«
turbed in his winter sleep and would rush out before the In
dian could reach a place of safety. At times there were even
two or three bears in one den. Sometimes the bear would re
fuse to come out, and on these occasions, which wrere rare, the
hunters would resort to fire. A piece of dry, rotten wood
was fastened to a long pde and was set on fire. When this
was pushed in on the bear he would give a sniff and a growl
and come out in a hurry.

The buffalo and elk were hunted with the bow and arrow.
This effective weapon did not make a noise and frighten the
game. The wary Indian crawled through the high grass until
within easy range and sometimes killed several buffalo or elk
before the herd became alarmed. The meat was then jerked.
This consisted in cutting it into thin strips and drying it in
the sun. Afterwards it was hung up in the lodges. The
skins were stretched on poles to dry, and when cured they
served as robes, clothing and wigwam-coverings.

The Indians were fond of honey and maple sugar. The
finding of a hive of bees, or a good run of maple syrup was
an occasion for general rejoicing. They found the honej
in hollow trees, and they obtained the maple sugar in twt
ways. When the sap came up in the maple trees a hole was

bored in the trees about a foot from the ground and a small
tube, usually made from a piece of alder, was inserted in the
hole. Through this the sap was carried into a vessel which
was placed under the tree. This sap was boiled down in ket
tles. If the Indians had no kettles they made the frost take
the place of heat in preparing the sugar. They used shallow
vessels made of bark, and these were filled with water and the
maple sap. It was left to freeze over night and in the
morning the ice was broken and thrown away. The sugar did
not freeze. When this process had been repeated several times
the residue was very good maple sugar.

Isaac did more than his share toward the work of pro
visioning the village for the winter. But he enjoyed it. He
was particularly fond of fishing by moonlight. Early No
vember was the best season for this sport, and the Indians
caught large numbers of fish. They placed a torch in the
bow of a canoe and paddled noiselessly over the stream. In
the clear water a bright light would so attract and fascinate
the fish that they would lie motionless near the bottom of the
shallow stream.

One cold night Isaac was in the bow of the canoe. Seeing
a large fish he whispered to the Indians with him to exercise
caution. His guides paddled noiselessly through the water.
Isaac stood up and raised the spear, ready to strike. In an
other second Isaac had cast the iron, but in his eagerness
he overbalanced himself and plunged head first into the icy
current, making a great splash and spoiling any further fish
ing. Incidents like this were a source of infinite amusement
to the Indians.

Before the autumn evenings grew too cold the Indian
held their courting dances. All unmarried maidens and braves
in the village were expected to take part in these dances. In
the bright light of huge fires, and watched by the chiefs, the
old men, the squaws, and the children, the maidens and the
braves, arrayed in their gaudiest apparel, marched into the
circle. They formed two lines a few paces apart. Each held
in the right hand a dry gourd which contained pebbles. Ad
vancing toward one another they sang the courting song,

Betty Zane 1£5

keeping time to the tune with the rattling of the pebbles.
When they met in the center the braves bent forward and
whispered a word to the maidens. At a certain point in the
song, which was indicated by a louder note, the maidens would
change their positions, and this was continued until every
brave had whispered to every maiden, when the dance ended.

Isaac took part in all these pleasures ; he entered into every
phase of the Indian's life; he hunted, worked, played, danced,
and sang with faithfulness. But when the long, dreary
winter days came with their ice-laden breezes, enforcing idle
ness on the Indians, he became restless. Sometimes for days
he would be morose and gloomy, keeping beside his own tent
and not mingling with the Indians. At such times Myeerah
did not question him.

Even in his happier hours his diversions were not many.
He never tired of watching and studying the Indian chil
dren. When he had an opportunity without being observed,
wliich was seldom, he amused himself with the papooses. The
Indian baby was strapped to a flat piece of wood and covered
with a broad flap of buckskin. The squaws hung these prim
itive baby carriages up on the pole of a tepee, on a branch
of a tree, or threw them round anywhere. Isaac never heard
a papoose cry. He often pulled down the flap of buckskin
and looked at the solemn little fellow, who would stare up at
him with big, wondering eyes.

Isaac's most intimate friend was a six-year-old Indian boy,
whom he called Captain Jack. He was the son of Thunder
cloud, the war-chief of the Hurons. Jack made a brave pic
ture in his buckskin hunting suit and his war bonnet. Already
lie could stick tenaciously on the back of a racing mustangt
and with his little bow he could place arrow after arrow in
the center of the target. Knowing Captain Jack would some
day be a mighty chief, Isaac taught him to speak English.
He endeavored to make Jack love him, so that when the lad
should grow to be a man he would remember his white brother
and sho*v mercy to the prisoners who fell into his power.

Another of Isaac's favorites was a half-breed Ottawa In
dian, a distant relative of Tarhe's. This Indian was very

126 Betty Zane

old ; no one knew how old ; his face was seamed and scarred
and wrinkled. Bent and shrunken was his form. He slept
most of the time, but at long intervals he would brighten up
and tell of his prowess when a warrior.

One of his favorite stories was of the part he had taken in
the events of that fatal and memorable July 2, 1755, when
Gen. Braddock and his English army were massacred by the
French and Indians near Fort Duquesne.

The old chief told how Beaujeu with his Frenchmen and
his five hundred Indians ambushed Braddock's army, sur
rounded the soldiers, fired from the ravines, the trees, the long
grass, poured a pitiless hail of bullets on the bewildered Brit
ish soldiers, who, unaccustomed to this deadly and unseen
foe, huddled under the trees like herds of frightened sheep,
and were shot down with hardly an effort to defend them
selves.

The old chief related that fifteen years after that battle
he went to the Kanawha settlement to see the Big Chief, Gen.
George Washington, who was travelling on the Kanawha. He
told Gen. Washington how he had fought in the battle of
Braddock's Fields; how he had shot and killed Gen. Brad-
dock; how he had fired repeatedly at Washington, and had
killed two horses under him, and how at last he came to the
conclusion that Washington was protected by the Great Spirit

who destined him for a great future.

********

Myeerah was the Indian name for a rare and beautiful
bird — the white crane — commonly called by the Indians,
Walk-in-the- Water. It had been the name of Tarhe's mother
and grandmother. The present Myeerah was the daughter of
a French woman, who had been taken captive at a very early
age, adopted into the Huron tribe, and married to Tarhe.
The only child of this union was Myeerah. She grew to be
a beautiful woman and was known in Detroit and the Canadian
forts as Tarhe's white daughter. The old chief often visited the
towns along the lake shore, and so proud was he of Myeerah
that he always had her accompany him. White men travelled
far to look at the Indian beauty. Many French soldiers

Betty Zane 127

wooed her in vain. Once, while Tarhe was in Detroit, a noted
French family tried in every way to get possession of
Myeerah.

The head of this family believed he saw in Myeerah the
child of his long lost daughter. Tarhe hurried away from the
r.ity and never returned to the white settlement.

Myeerah was only five years old at the time of the capture
of the Zane brothers and it was at this early age that she
formed the attachment for Isaac Zane which clung to her all
her life. She was seven when the men came from Detroit to
ransom the brothers, and she showed such grief when she
learned that Isaac was to be returned to his people that Tarhe
refused to accept any ransom for Isaac. As Myeerah grew
older her childish fancy for the white boy deepened into an
intense love.

But while this love ^dndered her inexorable to Isaac on the
question of giving him his freedom, it undoubtedly saved his
life as well as the lives jf other white prisoners, on more than
one occasion.

To the white captives who fell into the hands of the Hurons,
she was kind and merciful; many of the wounded she had
tended with her own hands, and many poor wretches she had
saved from the gauntlet and the stake. When her efforts
to persuade her father to save any one were unavailing she
would retire in sorrow to her lodge and remain there.

Her infatuation for the White Eagle, the Huron name for
Isaac, was an old story ; it was known to all the tribes and had
long ceased to be questioned. At first some of the Delawares
and the Shawnee braves, who had failed to win M}7eerah's
iove, had openly scorned her for her love for the pale face.
The Wyandot warriors to a man worshipped her; they would
have marched straight into the jaws of death at her com
mand; they resented the insults which had been cast on their
princess, and they had wiped them out in blood: now none
dared taunt her.

In the spring following Isaac's recapture a very serious
accident befell him. He had become expert in the Indian
game of ball, which is a game resembling the Canadian la-

128 Betty Zane

crosse, and from which, in fact, it had been adopted. Goals
were placed at both ends of a level plain. Each party of In
dians chose a goal which they endeavored to defend and at
the same time would try to carry the ball over their oppo
nent's line.

A well contested game of Indian ball presented a scene of
wonderful effort and excitement. Hundreds of strong and
supple braves could be seen running over the plain, darting
this way and that, or struggling in a yelling, kicking, fighting
mass, all in a mad scramble to get the ball.

As Isaac had his share of the Zane swiftness of foot, at
times his really remarkable fleetness enabled him to get con
trol of the ball. In front of the band of yelling savages he
would carry it down the field, and evading the guards at the
goal would throw it between the posts. This was a feat of
which any brave could be proud.

During one of these games Red Fox, a Wyandot brave,
who had long been hopelessly in love with Myeerah, and who
cordially hated Isaac, used this opportunity for revenge.
Red Fox, who was a swift runner, had vied with Isaac for the
honors, but being defeated in the end, he had yielded to his
jealous frenzy and had struck Isaac a terrible blow on the
head with his bat.

It happened to be a glancing blow or Isaac's life would
have been ended then and there. As it was he had a deep
gash in his head. The Indians carried him to his lodge and
the medicine men of the tribe were summoned.

When Isaac recovered consciousness he asked for Myeerah
and entreated her not to punish Red Fox. He knew that
such a course would only increase his difficulties, and, on the
other hand, if he saved the life of the Indian who had struck
him in such a cowardly manner such an act would appeal
favorably to the Indians. His entreaties had no effect on
Myeerah, who was furious, and who said that if Red Fox,
who had escaped, ever returned he would pay for his unpro
voked assault with his life, even if she had to kill him herself.
Isaac knew that Myeerah would keep her word. He dreaded
svery murning that the old squaw who prepared his meals

Betty Zane 129

would bring; him the news that his assailant had been slain.

o

Red Fox was a popular brave, and there were many Indians
who believed the blow he had struck Isaac was not intentional
Isaac worried needlessly, however, for Red Fox never came
back, and nothing could be learned as to his wherabouts.

It was during his convalescence that Isaac learned really
to love the Indian maiden. She showed such distress in the
first days after nis injury, and such happiness when he was*
out of danger and on the road to recovery that Isaac won
dered at her. She attended him with anxious solicitude;
when she bathed and bandaged his wound her every touch
was a tender caress ; she sat by him for hours ; her low voice
made soft melody as she sang the Huron love songs. The
moments were sweet to Isaac when in the gathering twilight
she leaned her head on his shoulder while they listened to the
evening carol of the whip-poor-will. Days passed and at
length Isaac was entirely well. One day when the air was
laden v/ith the warm breath of summer Myeerah and Isaa*
walked by the river.

"You are sad again," said Myeerah.

"I am homesick. I want to see my people. Myeerah, yo^
have named me rightly. The Eagle can never be happy un
less he is free."

"The Eagle can be happy with his mate. And what life
could be freer than a Huron's? I hope always that you will
grow content."

"It has been a long time now, Myeerah, since I have spoken
with you of my freedom. Will you ever free me? Or must
I take again those awful chances of escape? I cannot always
live here in this way. Some day I shall be killed while trying1
to get away, and then, if you truly love me, you will never
forgive yourself."

"Does not Myeerah truly love you?" she asked, gazing
straight into his eyes, her own misty and sad.

"I do not doubt that, but I think sometimes that it is not
the right kind of love. It is too savage. No man should be
made a prisoner for no other reason than that he is loved
by a woman. I have tried to teach you many things; the

130 Betty Zane

language of my people* their ways and thoughts, but I have
failed to civilize you. I cannot make you understand that it
is unwomanly — do not turn away. I am not indifferent. I
have learned to care for you. Your beauty and tenderness
have made anything else impossible."

"Myeerah is proud of her beauty, if it pleases the Eagle.
Her beauty and her love are his. Yet the Eagle's words
make Myeerah sad. She cannot tell what she feels. The
pale face's words flow swiftly and smoothly like rippling
waters, but Myeerah's heart is full and her lips are dumb."

Myeerah and Isaac stopped under a spreading elm tree
the branches of which drooped over and shaded the river.
The action of the high water had worn away the earth round
the roots of the old elm, leaving them bare and dry when
the stream was low. As though Nature had been jealous ,in
the interest of lovers, she had twisted and curled the roots
into a curiouslv shaped bench just above the water, which was
Becluded enough to escape all eyes except those of the beaver
and the muskrat. The bank above was carpeted with fresh,
dewy grass; blue bells and violets hid modestly under their
dark green leaves; delicate ferns, like wonderful fairy lace,
lifted their dainty heads to sway in the summer breeze. In
this qu,iet nook the lovers passed many hours.

"Then, if my White Chief has learned to care for me, he
must not try to escape," whispered Myeerah, tenderly, as she
crept into Isaac's arms and laid her head on his breast. "I
love you. I love you. What will become of Myeerah if you
leave her? Could she ever be happy? Could she ever forget?
No, no, I will keep my captive."
i "I cannot persuade you to let me go?"

"If I free you I will come and lie here," cried Myeerah,
point ins: to the dark pool.

"Then come with me to my home and live there."

"Go with you to the village of the pale faces, where
Myeerah would be scorned, pointed at as .your captor,
laughed at and pitied? No! No!"

"But you would not be," said Isaac, eagerly. "You would
be my wife. My sister and people will love you. Come,

Betty Zane 131

Myeerah, save me from this bondage; come home with me
and I will make you happy.*'

"It can never be," she said, sadly, after a long pause,
"How would we ever reach the fort by the big river? Tarhe
loves his daughter and will not give her up. If we tried to
get away the braves would overtake us and then even Myeerab
could not save your life. You would be killed. I dare not
try. No, no, Myeerah loves too well for that.'9

"You might make the attempt," said Isaac, turning away
in bitter disappointment. "If you loved me you could not
see me suffer."

"Never say that again," cried Myeerah, pain and scorn in
her dark eyes. "Can an Indian Princess who has the blood
of great chiefs in her veins prove her love in any way that
she has not? Some day you will know that you wrong me.
I am Tarhe's daughter. A Huron does not lie."

They slowly wended their way back to the camp, botli
miserable at heart ; Isaac longing to see his home and f riendSf
and yet with tenderness in his heart for the Indian maiden
who would not free him ; Myeerah with pity and love for him,
and a fear that her long cherished dream could never be re
alized.

One dark, stormy night, when the rain beat down in tor
rents and the swollen river raged almost to its banks, Isaac
slipped out of h.is lodge unobserved and under cover of the
pitchy darkness he got safely between the lines of tepees to
the river. He had just the opportunity for which he had
been praying. He plunged into the water and floating down
with the swift current he soon got out of sight of the flicker^
ing camp fires. Half a mile below he left the water and ran
along the bank until he came to a large tree, a landmark he
remembered, wheu he turned abruptly to the east and struck
out through the dense woods. He travelled due east all that
night and the next day without resting, and with nothing to
eat except a small piece of jerked buffalo meat which he had
taken the precaution to hide in his hunting shirt. He rested
part of the second night and next morning pushed on toward
the east. He had expected to reach the Ohio that day, but

Betty Zane

he did not and he noticed that the ground seemed to be
gradually rising. He did not come across any swampy
&nds or saw grass or vegetation characteristic of the low
lands. He stopped and tried to get his bearings. The coun
try was unknown to him, but he believed he knew the general
lay of the ridges and the water-courses.

The fourth day found Isaac hopelessly lost in the woods.
He was famished, having eaten but a few herbs and berries in
the last two days ; his buckskin garments were torn ,in tatters ;
his moccasins were worn out and his feet lacerated by the
sharj^ thorns.

Darkness was fast approaching when he first realized that
he was lost. He waited hopefully for the appearance of the
north star — that most faithful of hunter's guides — but the
sky clouded over and no stars appeared. Tired out and hope
less he dragged his weary body into a dense laurel thicket
and lay down to wait for dawn. The dismal hoot of an owl
nearby, the stealthy steps of some soft-footed animal prowling
round the thicket, and the mournful sough of the wind in the
tree-tops kept him awake for hours, but at last he fell asleep.

CHAPTER VII.

HE chilling rains of November an^
December's flurry of snow had passed
and mid-winter with its icy blasts
had set in. The Black Forest had
changed autumn's gay crimsoi! 6n
yellow to the sombre hue of wink -
and now looked indescribably
dreary. An ice gorge had formei?
in the bend of the river at the head
of the jsland and from bank to bank
logs, driftwood, broken ice and giant floes were packed and
jammed so tightly as to resist the action of the mighty cur
rent. This natural bridge would remain solid twtil spring
had loosened the frozen grip of old winter. The hills sur
rounding Fort Henry were white w,ith snow. The huge
drifts were on a level with Col. Zane's fence and in some places
the top rail had disappeared. The pine trees in the yard
were weighted down and drooped helplessly with their white
burden.

On this frosty January morning the only signs of life
round the settlement were a man and a dog walking up
Wheeling hill. The man carried a rifle, an axe, and several
steel traps. His snow-shoes sank into the drifts as he la
bored up the steep hill. All at once he stopped. The big
black dog had put his nose high in the air and had sniffed
at the cold wind.

"Well, Tige, old fellow, what is it?" said Jonathan Zane,
for this was he.

The dog answered with a low whine. Jonathan looked up
and down the creek valley and along the hillside, but he saw
no living thing. Snow, snow everywhere, its white monotony
relieved here and there by a black tree trunk. Tige sniffed
again and then growled. Turning his ear to the breeze Jona
than heard faint yelps from far over the hilltop. He dropped
his axe and the traps and ran the remaining short distance

Betty Zane

up the hill. When he reached the summit the clear baying
of hunting wolves was borne to his ears.

The hill sloped gradually on the other side, ending in a
white, unbroken plain which extended to the edge of the
laurel thicket a quarter of a mile distant. Jonathan could
not see the wolves, but he heard distinctly their peculiar,
broken howls. They were in pursu.it of something, whether
quadruped or man he could not decide. Another moment and
he was no longer in doubt, for a deer dashed cut of the
thicket. Jonathan saw that it was a buck and that he was
well nigh exhausted; his head swung low from side to side;
he sank slowly to his knees, and showed every indication of
distress.

The next instant the baying of the wolves, which had
ceased for a moment, sounded close at hand. The buck stag
gered to his feet; he turned th.is way and that. When he saw
the man and the dog he started toward them without a mo
ment's hesitation.

At a warning word from Jonathan the dog sank on the
snow. Jonathan stepped behind a tree, which, however, was
not large enough to screen his body. He thought the buck
would pass close by him and he determined to shoot at the
most favorable moment.

The buck, however, showed no intention of passing by ; in
his abject terror he saw in the man and the dog foes less
terrible than those which were yelping on his trail. He came
on in a lame uneven trot, making straight for the tree. When
he reached the tree he crouched, or rather fell, on the ground
within a yard of Jonathan and his dog. He quivered and
twitched; his nostrils flared; at every pant drops of blood
flecked the snow ; his great dark eyes had a strained and awful
look, almost human in its agony.

Another yelp from the thicket and Jonathan looked up in
time to see five timber wolves, gaunt, hungry looking beasts,
burst from the bushes. With their noses close to the snow
they followed the trail. When they came to the spot where
the deer had fallen a chorus of angry, thirsty howls filled
the air.

Betty Zane 135

"Well, if this doesn't beat me ! I thought I knew a little
about deer," said Jonathan. "Tige, we will save this buck
from those gray devils if it costs a leg. Steady now, old
fellow, wait."

When the wolves were within fifty yards of the tree and
corm'ng swiftly Jonathan threw his rifle forward and yelled
wjth all the power of his strong lungs:

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Take 'em, Tige!"

In trying to stop quickly on the slippery snowcrust the
wolves fell all over themselves. One dropped dead and an
other fell wounded at the report of Jonathan's rifle. The
others turned tail and loped swiftly off into the thicket. Tige
made short \vork of the wounded one.

"Old White Tail, if you were the last buck in the valley,
I would not harm you," said Jonathan, looking at the pant*
ing deer. "You need have no farther fear of that pack of
cowards."

So saying Jonathan called to Tige and wended his waj
down the hill toward the settlement.

An hour afterward he was sitting in Col. Zane's comfort
able cabin, where all was warmth and cheerfulness. Blaz*
ing hickory logs roared and crackled in the stone fire*
place.

"Hello, Jack, where did you come from?" said Col. Zane,
who had just come in. "Haven't seen you since we were
snowed up. Come over to see about the horses ? If I were you
1 would not undertake that trip to Fort Pitt until the weather
breaks. You could go in the sled, of course, but if you care
anything for my advice you will stay home. This weather
will hold on for some time. Let Lord Dunmore ^rait."

"I guess we are in for some stiff weather."

"Haven't a doubt of it. I told Bessie last fall we might
expect a hard winter. Everything indicated it. Look at
the thick corn-husks. The hulls of the nuts from the shell-
bark here in the yard were larger and tougher than I evet
saw them. Last October Tige killed a raccoon that had the
wooliest kind of a fur. I could have given you a dozen signs
of a hard winter. We shall still have a month or six weeks

136 Betty Zane

of it. In a week wjll be ground-hog day and you had better
wait and decide after that."

"I tell you, Eb, I get tired chopping wood and hanging
round the house."

"Aha! another moody spell," said Col. Zane, glancing
kindly at his brother. "Jack, if you were married you
would outgrow those 'blue-devils.' I used to have them. It
runs in the family to be moody. I have known our father
to take his gun and go into the woods and stay there until
he had fought out the spell. I have done that myself, but
since I married Bessie I have had no return of the old feel
ing. Get married, Jack, and then you will settle down and
work. You will not have time to roam around alone in the
woods."

"I prefer the spells, as you call them, any day/' answered
Jonathan, with a short laugh. "A man with my disposition
has no right to get married. This weather is trying, for it
keeps me indoors. I cannot hunt because we do not need the
meat. And even if I did want to hunt I should not have to
go out of sight of the fort. There were three deer in front
cf the barn this morning. They were nearly starved. They
ran off a little at sight of me, but in a few moments came
back for the hay I pitched out of the loft. This afternoon
Tige and I saved a big buck from a pack of wolves. The
buck came right up to me. I could have touched him. This
storm is sending the deer down from the hills."

"You are right. It js too bad. Severe weather like this
will kill more deer than an army could. Have you been
doing anything with your traps?"

"Yes, I have thirty traps out."

"If you are going, tell Sam to fetch down another load of
fodder before he unhitches."

"Eb, I have no patience with your brothers," said Col.
Zane's wife to him after he had closed the door. "They art
all alike; forever wanting to be on the go. If it isn't Indians
it is something else. The very idea of going up the river
in this weather. If Jonathan doesn't care for himself he
should think of the horses."

BettyZane 137

"My dear, I was just as wild and discontented as Jack be
fore I met you," remarked Col. Zane.-^You may not think
so, but a home and pretty little woman will do wonders
for any man~JLMy brothers have nothing to keep them

steady."

"Perhaps. I do not believe that Jonathan ever will get
married. Silas may; he certainly has been keeping company
long enough with Mary Bennet. You are the only Zane
who has conquered that adventurous spirit and the desire to
be always roaming the woods in search of something to kill.
Your old bo}^, Noah, is growing up like all the Zanes. He
fights with all the children in the settlement. I cannot break
him of it. He is not a bully, for I have never known him to
do anything mean or cruel. It is just sheer love of fighting.**

"Ha ! Ha ! I fear you will not break him of that," an
swered Col. Zane. "It is a good joke to say he gets it all
from the Zanes. How about the McCollochs? What have
you to say of your father and the Major and John McCol-
loch? They are not anything if not the fighting kind. It's
the best trait the youngster could have, out here on the
border. He'll need it all. Don't worry about him. Where
is Betty?"

"I told her to take the children out for a sled ride. Betty
needs exercise. She stays indoors too much, and of late she
looks pale."

"What! Betty not looking well! She was never ill in
her life. I have noticed no change in her."

"No, I daresay you have not. You men can't see any
thing. But I can, and I tell you, Betty is very different from
the girl she used to be. Most of the time she sits and gazes
out of her window. She used to be so bright, and when she
was not romping with the children she busied herself with
her needle. Yesterday as I entered her room she hurriedly
picked up a book, and, I think, intentionally hid her face
behind it. I saw she had been crying."

"Come to think of it, I believe I have missed Betty," said
Col. Zane, gravely. "She seems more quiet. Is she unhappy?
When did you first see this change?"

138 Betty Zanc

"I think it was a little while after Mr. Clarke left here las*

"Clarke! What has he to do with Betty? What are you
driving at?" exclaimed the Colonel, stopping in front of h,is
wife. His faced had paled slightly. "I had forgotten
Clarke. Bess, you can't mean - "

"Now, Eb, do not get that look on your face. You always
frighten me," answered his wife, as she quietly placed her
hand on his arm. "I do not mean anything much, certainly
nothing against Mr. Clarke. He was a true gentleman. I
really liked him."

"So did I," interrupted the Colonel.

"I believe Betty cared for Mr. Clarke. She was always
different with him. He has gone away and has forgotten
her. That is strange to us, because we cannot imagine any
one indifferent to our beautiful Betty. Nevertheless, no mat
ter how attractive a woman may be men sometimes love and
ride away. I hear the children coming now. Do not let
Betty see that we have been talking about her. She is aa
quick as a steel trap."

A peal of childish laughter came from without. The door
opened arid Betty ran in, followed by the sturdy, rosy-
cheeked youngsters. All three were white with snow.

**We have had great fun," said Betty. "We went over
the bank once and tumbled off the sled into the enow. Then
we had a snow-balling contest, and the boys compelled me to
strike my colors and fly for the house."

Col. Zane looked closely at his sister. Her cheeks were
glowing with health; her eyes were sparkling with pleasure.
Failing to observe any indication of the change in Betty
of which his wife had spoken, he concluded that women were
better qualified to judge their own sex than were men. He
had to confess to himself that the only change he could see
in his sister was that she grew prettier every day of her life.

"Oh, papa. I hit Sam right in the head with a big snow
ball, and I made Betty run into the house, and I slid down thf
hill all by myself. Sam was afraid," said Noah to his father.

"Noah, if Sammy saw the danger in sliding dowp the hiF

Betty Zane 139

he was braver than you. Now both of you run to Annie and
have these wet things taken off."

"I must go get on dry clothes myself," said Betty. "I
am nearly frozen. It is growing colder. I saw Jack come
in. Is he going to Fort Pitt?"

"No. He has decided to wait until good weather. I met
Mr. Miller over at the garrison this afternoon and he wants
you to go on the sled-ride to-night. There is to be a dance
down at Watkins' place. All the young people are going.
It is a long ride, but I guess it will be perfectly safe. Silas
and Wetzel are going. Dress yourself warmly and go with
them. You have never seen old Grandma Watkins."

"I shall be pleased to go," said Betty.

Betty's room was very cozy, considering that it was in a
pioneer's cabin. It had two windows, the larger of which
opened on the side toward the river. The walls had been
smoothly plastered and covered with white birch-bark. They
were adorned with a few pictures and Indian ornaments. A
bright homespun carpet covered the floor. A small book
case stood in the corner. The other furniture consisted of
two chairs, a small table, a bureau with a mirror, and a large
wardrobe. It was in this last that Betty kept the gowns
which she had brought from Philadelphia, and which were
the wonder of all the girls in the village.

"I wonder why Eb looked so closely at me," mused Betty,
as she slipped on her little moccasins. "Usually he is not
anxious to have me go so far from the fort; and now he
seemed to think I would enjoy this dance to-night. I wonder
what Bessie has been telling him."

Betty threw some wood on the smouldering fire in the little
stone grate and sat down to think. Like every one who has
a humiliating secret, Betty was eternally suspicious and
feared the very walls would guess it. Swift as light came the
thought that her brother and his wife had suspected her
secret and had been talking about her, perhaps pitying her.
With this thought came the fear that if she had betrayed
herself to the Colonel's wife she might have done so to others.
The consciousness that this might well be true and that even

140 Betty Zane

now the girls might be talking and laughing at her caused
her exceeding shame and bitterness.

Many weeks had passed since that last night that Betty
and Alfred Clarke had been together.

In due time Col. Zane's men returned and Betty learned
from Jonathan that Alfred had left them at Ft. Pitt, saying
he was going south to his old home. At first she had expected
some word from Alfred, a letter, or if not that, surely an
apology for his conduct on that last evening they had been
together. But Jonathan brought her no word, and after
hoping against hope and wearing away the long days look
ing for a letter that never came, she ceased to hope and
plunged Jnto despair.

The last few months had changed her life; changed it as
only constant thinking, and suffering that must be hidden
from the world, can change the life of a }roung girl. She had
been so intent on her own thoughts, so deep in her dreams that
she had taken no heed of other people. She did not know
that those who loved her were always thinking of her welfare,
and would naturally see even a slight change in her. With a
sudden shock of surprise and pain she realized that to-day f 01
the first time in a month she had played with the boys.
Sammy had asked her why she did not laugh any more. Now
she understood the mad antics of Tige that morning; Mad
cap's whinney of delight ; the chattering of the squirrels, and
Csesar's pranks in the snow. She had neglected her pets.
She had neglected her work, her friends, the boys' lessons,
and her brother. For what? What would her girl friends
say? That she was pining for a lover who had forgotten
her. They would say that and it would be true. She did
think of him constantly.

With bitter pain she recalled the first days of the acquain
tance which now seemed so long past; how much she had dis
liked Alfred ; how angry she had been with him and how con
temptuously she had spurned his first proffer of friendship;
how, little by little, her pride had been subdued; then the
struggle with her heart. And, at last, after he had gone,
came the realization that the moments spent with him had been

Betty Zane 141

the sweetest of her life. She thought of him as she used to
see him stand before her; so good to look at; so strong and
masterful, and yet so gentle.

"Oh, I cannot bear it," whispered Betty with a half sob,
giving up to a rush of tender feeling. "I love him. I love
him, and I cannot forget him. Oh, I am so ashamed."

Betty bowed her head on her knees. Her slight form quiv
ered a while and then grew still. When a half hour later
she raised her head her face was pale and cold. It bore the
look of a girl who had suddenly become a woman; a woman
who saw the battle of life before her and who was ready to
fight. Stern resolve gleamed from her flashing eyes; there
was no faltering in those set lips.

Betty was a Zane and the Zanes came of a fighting race.
Their blood had ever been hot and passionate; the blood of
men quick to love and quick to hate. It had flowed in the
veins of daring, reckless men who had fought and died for
their country; men who had won their sweethearts with the
sword ; men who had had unconquerable spirits. It was this
fighting instinct that now rose in Betty ; it gave her strength
and pride to defend her secret ; the resolve to fight against the
longing in her heart.

"I will forget him ! I will tear him out of my heart !" she
exclaimed passionately. "He never deserved my love. He
did not care. I was a little fool to let him amuse himself
with me. He went away and forgot. I hate him."

At length Betty subdued her excitement, and when she went
down to supper a few minutes later she tried to maintain a
cheerful composure of manner and to chat with her old-time
vivacity.

"Bessie, I am sure you have exaggerated things," remarked
Col. Zane after Betty had gone upstairs to dress for the
dance. "Perhaps it is only that Betty grows a little tired of
this howling wilderness. Small wonder if she does. You
know she h?is always been used to comfort and many young
people, places to go and all that. This is her first winter on
wie frontier. She'll come round all right."

"Have it your way, Ebenezer," answered his wife with a

Betty Zane

look of amused contempt on her face. "I am sure I hope you
are right. By the way what do you think of this Ralfe
Miller? He has been much with Betty of late."

"I do not know the fellow, Bessie. He seems agreeable.
He is a good-looking young man. Why do you ask?"

"The Major told me that Miller had a bad name at Pitt,
and that he had been a friend of Simon Girty before Girty
became a renegade."

"Humph! I'll have to speak to Sam. As for knowing
Girty, there is nothing terrible in that. All the women seem
to think that Simon is the very prince of devils. I have
known all the Girtys for years. Simon was not a bad fellow
before he went over to the Indians. It is his brother James
who has committed most of those deeds which have made the,'
name of Girty so infamous."

"I don't like Miller," continued Mrs. Zane in a hesitating
way. "I must admit that I have no sensible reason for my
dislike. He is pleasant and agreeable, yes, but behind it
there is a certain intensity. That man has something on
his mind."

"If he is in love with Betty, as you seem to think, he has
enough on his mind. I'll vouch for that," said Col. Zane.
"Betty is inclined to be a coquette. If she liked Clarke pretty
well, it may be a lesson to her."

"I wjsh she were married and settled down. It may have
been no great harm for Betty to have had many admirers
while in Philadelphia, but out here on the border it will never
do. These men will not have it. There will be trouble come
of Betty's coquettishness."

"Why, Bessie, she is only a child. What would you have
her do? Marry the first man who asked her?"

"The clod-hoppers are coming," said Mrs. Zane as the
jingling of sle,igh bells broke the stillness.

Col. Zane sprang up and opened the door. A broad stream
of light flashed from the room and lighted up the road.
Three powerful teams stood before the door. They were
hitched to sleds, or clod-hoppers, which were nothing more
than wagon-beds fastened on wooden runners. A chorus of

Betty Zane

merry shouts greeted Col. Zane as he appeared in the door
way.

"All right ! all right ! Here she is," he cried, as Betty ran
down the steps.

The Colonel bundled her in a buffalo robe in a corner of
,he foremost sled. At her feet he placed a buckskin bag
containing a hot stone Mrs. Zane thoughtfully had provided.

"All ready here. Let them go," called the Colonel. "You
will have clear weather. Coming back look well to the traces
and keep a watch for the wolves."

The long whips cracked, the bells jingled, the impatient
horses plunged forward and away they went over the glisten
ing snow. The night was clear and cold; countless stars
blinked in the black vault overhead ; the pale moon cast its
wintry light down on a white and frozen world. As the run
ners glided swiftly and smoothly onward showers of dry snow
like fine powder flew from under the horses' hoofs and soon
whitened the black-robed figures in the sleds. The way led
down the hill past the Fort, over the creek bridge and along
the road that skirted the Black Forest. The ride was long;
it led up and down hills, and through a lengthy stretch of
gloomy forest. Sometimes the drivers walked the horses up a
steep climb and again raced them along a level bottom.
Making a turn in the road they saw a bright light in the dis
tance whjch marked their destination. In five minutes the
horses dashed into a wide clearing. An immense log fire
burned in front of a two-story structure. Streams of light
poured from the small windows; the squeaking of fiddles, the
shuffling of many feet, and gay laughter came through the
open door.

The steaming horses were unhitched, covered carefully with
robes and led into sheltered places, while the merry party dis
appeared into the house.

The occasion was the celebration of the b.irthday of old
Dan Watkins' daughter. Dan was one of the oldest settlers
along the river ; in fact, he had located his farm several years
after Col. Zane had founded the settlement. He was noted
for his open-handed dealing and kindness of heart. He had

144 Betty Zane

V

loaned many a head of cattle which had never been returned,
and many a sack of flour had left his mill unpaid for in grain.
He was a good shot, he would lay a tree on the ground as
quickly as any man who ever swung an axe, and he could drink
more whiskey than any man in the valley.

Dan stood at the door with a smile of welcome upon his
rugged features and a handshake and a pleasant word for
everyone. His daughter Susan greeted the men with a little
curtsy and kissed the girls upon the cheek. Susan was not
pretty, though she was strong and healthy ; her laughing blue
eyes assured a sunny disposition, and she numbered her suitors
by the score.

The young people lost nO time. Soon the floor was cov
ered with their whirl.ing forms.

In one corner of the room sat a little dried-up old woman
with white hair and bright dark eyes. This was Grandma
Watkins. She was very old, so old that no one knew her age<
but she was still vigorous enough to do her day's work witlf
more pleasure than many a younger woman. Just now she
was talking to Wetzel, who leaned upon his inseparable rifle
and listened to her chatter. The hunter liked the old lady
and would often stop at her cabin while on his way to the set
tlement and leave at her door a fat turkey or a haunch of
venison.

"Lew Wetzel, I am ashamed of you." Grandmother Wat-
kins was saying. "Put that gun in the corner and get out
there and dance. Enjoy yourself. You are only a boy yet."

"I'd better look on, mother," answered the "hunter.

"Pshaw ! You can hop and skip around like any of them
and laugh too if you want. I hope that pretty sister of Eb
Zane has caught your fancy."

"She is not for the like of me," he said gently. "I haven't
the gifts."

"Don't talk about gifts. Not to an old woman who has
lived three times and more your age," she said impatiently.
"It is not gifts a woman wants out here in the West. If she
does 'twill do her no good. She needs a strong arm to build
cabins, a quick eye with a rifle, and a fearless heart. What

Betty Zane 145

border-women want are houses and children. They musi
bring up men, men to drive the redskins back, men to till the
soil, or else what is the good of our suffering here."

"You are right," said Wetzel thoughtfully. "But I'd hate
to see a flower like Betty Zane in a rude hunter's cabin."

"I have known the Zanes for forty year5 and I never saw
one yet that was afraid of work. And you might win her if
you would give up running mad after Indians. I'll allow no
woman would put up with that. You hare killed many In
dians. You ought to be satisfied."

"Fightin' redskins is somethin' I can't help," said the
hunter, slowly shaking his head. "If I got married the fever
would come on and I'd leave home. No, I'm no good for a
woman. Fightin' is all I'm good for."

"Why not fight for her, then? Don't let one of these boys
walk off with her. Look at her. She likes fun and admira
tion. I believe you do care for lier. Why not t^ry to w,in
her?"

"Who is that tall man with her?" continued the old lady
as Wetzel did not answer. "There, they have gone into the
other room. Who is he?"

"His name is Miller."

"Lewis, I don't like him. I have been watching him all
evening. I'm a contrary old woman, I know, but I have seen
a good many men in my time, and his face is not honest. He
is in love with her. Does she care for him?"

"No, Betty doesn't care for Miller. She's just full of life
and fun."

"You may be mistaken. All the Zanes are fire and brim
stone and this girl is a Zane clear through. Go and fetch he*
to me, Lewis. I'll tell you if there's a chance for you."

"Dear mother, perhaps there's a wife in Heaven for me.
There's none on earth," said the hunter, a sad smile flitting
over his calm face.

Ralfe Miller, whose actions had occasioned the remarks of
the old lady, would have been conspicuous in any assembly of
men. There was something in his dark face that compelled
interest and yet left the observer in doubt. His square chin,

146 Betty Zane

deep-set eyes and firm mouth denoted a strong and indom
itable will. He looked a man whom it would be dangerous
to cross.

Little was known of Miller's history. He hailed from Ft.
Pitt, where he had a reputation as a good soldier, but a man
of morose and quarrelsome disposition. It was whispered
that he drank, and that he had been friendly with the rene
gades McKee, Elliott, and Girty. He had passed the fall and
winter at Ft. Henry, serving on garrison duty. Since he
had made the acquaintance of Betty he had shown her all the
attention possible.

On this night a close observer would have seen that Miller
was laboring under some strong feeling. A half -subdued fire
gleamed from his dark eyes. A peculiar nervous twitching
of his nostrils betrayed a poorly suppressed excitement.

All evening he followed Betty like a shadow. Her kind
ness may have encouraged him. She danced often with him
and showed a certain preference for his society. Al.ice and
Lydia were puzzled by Betty's manner. As they were inti
mate friends they believed they knew something of her likes
and dislikes. Had not Betty told them she did not care for
Mr. Miller? What was the meaning of the arch glances she
bestowed upon him, if she did not care for him? To be sure,
it was nothing wonderful for Betty to smile, — she was always
prodigal of her smiles — but she had never been known to en
courage any man. The truth was that Betty had put her
new resolution into effect; to be as merry and charming as
any fancy-free maiden could possibly be, and the farthest re
moved from a young lady pining for an absent and indifferent
sweetheart. To her sorrow Betty played her part too well.

Except to Wetzel, whose keen eyes little escaped, there was
jo significance in Miller's hilarity one moment and sudden
thoughtfulness the next. And if there had been, it would
have excited no comment. Most of the young men had
sampled some of old Dan's best rye and their flushed faces
and unusual spirits did not result altogether from the exercise
of the dance.

After one of the reels Miller led Betty, with whom be had

Betty Zane

been dancing, into one of the side rooms. Round the dimly
lighted room were benches upon which were seated some of
the dancers. Betty was uneasy in im'nd and now wished that
she had remained at home. They had exchanged several
commonplace remarks when the music struck up and Betty
rose quickly to her feet.

"See, the others have gone. Let us return," she said.

"Wait," said Miller hurriedly. "Do not go just yet. 1
wish to speak to you. I have asked you many times if you
will marry me. Now I ask you again."

"Mr. Miller, I thanked you and begged you not to cause
us both pain by again referring to that subject," answered
Betty with dignity. "If you will persist in bringing it up we
cannot be friends any longer."

"Wait, please wait. I have told you that I will not take
'No' for an answer. I love you with all my heart and soul
and I cannot give you up."

His voice was low and hoarse and thrilled with a strong
man's passion. Betty looked up into his face and tears of
compassion filled her eyes. Her heart softened to this man,
and her conscience gave her a little twinge of remorse.
Could she not have averted all this? No doubt she had been
much to blame, and this thought made her voice very low and
sweet as she answered him.

"I like you as a friend, Mr. Miller, but we can never be
more than friends. I am very sorry for you, and angry with
myself that I did not try to help you instead of making it
worse. Please do not speak of this again. Come, let us join
the others."

They were quite alone in the room. As Betty finished speak
ing and started for the door Miller intercepted her. She re
coiled in alarm from his white face.

"No, you don't go yet. I won't give you up so easily. No
woman can play fast and loose with me. Do you understand ?
What have you meant all this winter? You encouraged me.
You know you did," he cried passionately.

"I thought you were a gentleman. I have really taken the
trouble to defend you against persons who evidently were not

J48 Betty Zane

misled as to your real nature. I will not listen to you," sajd
Betty coldly. She turned away from him, all her softened
feeling changed to scorn.

"You shall listen to me," he whispered as he grasped her
wrist and pulled her backward. All the man's brutal passion
had been aroused. The fierce border blood boiled within his
heart. , Unmasked he showed himself in his true colors — a
frontier desperado. His eyes gleamed dark and lurid beneath
his bent brows and a short, desperate laugh passed his lips.

"I will make you lore me, my proud beauty. I shall have
you yet, one way or another."

"Let me go. How dare you touch me!" cried Betty, the
hot blood coloring her face. She struck him a stinging blow
with her free hand and struggled with all her might to free
herself ; but she was powerless in his iron grasp. Closer he
drew her.

"If it costs me my life I will kiss you for that blow," he
muttered hoarsely.

"Oh, you coward! you ruffian! Release me or I will

scream."

She had opened her lips to call for help when she saw a
dark figure cross the threshold. She recognized the tall form
of Wetzel. The hunter stood still in the doorway for a sec
ond and then with the swiftness of light he sprang forward.
The single straightening of his arm sent Miller backward
over a bench to the floor with a crashing sound. Miller rose
with some difficulty and stood with one hand to his head.

"Lew, don't draw your knife," cried Betty as she saw Wet-
zel's hand go inside his hunting shirt. She had thrown her*
self in front of him as Miller got to his feet. With both
little hands she clung to the brawny arm of the hunter, but
she could not stay it. Wetzel's hand slipped to h.is belt.

"For God's sake, Lew, do not kill him," implored Betty,
gazing horror-stricken at the glittering eyes of the hunter.
"You have punished him enough. He only tried to kiss me.
I was partly to blame. Put your knife away. Do not shed
blood. For my sake, Lew, for my sake!"

When Betty found that she could not hold WetzeJ's arm

Betty Zane 149

she threw her arms round his neck and clung to him w.ith al?
her young strength. No doubt her action averted a tragedy.
If Miller had been inclined to draw a weapon then he might
have had a good opportunity to use it. He had the reputa
tion of being quick with his knife, and many of his past fights
testified that he was not a coward. But he made no effort to
attack Wetzel. It was certain that he measured with his eye
the distance to the door. Wetzel was not like other men.
Irrespective of his wonderful strength and agility there was
something about the Indian hunter that terrified all men.
Miller shrank before those eyes. He knew that never in all
his life of adventure had he been as near death as at that
moment. There was nothing between him and eternity
but the delicate arms of this frail girl. At a slight wave
of the hunter's hand towards the door he turned and passed
out.

"Oh, how dreadful !" cried Betty, dropping upon a bench
with a sob of relief. "I am glad you came when you did even
though you frightened me more than he did. Promise me
that you will not do Miller any further harm. If you had
fought it would all have been on my account ; one or both of
you might have been killed. Don't look at me so. I do not
care for him. I never did. Now that I know him I despise
him. He lost his senses and tried to kiss me. I could have
killed him myself."

Wetzel did not answer. Betty had been holding his hand
in both her own while she spoke impulsively.

"I understand how difficult it is for you to overlook an in
sult to me," she continued earnestly. "But I ask it of you,
You are my best friend, almost my brother, and I promise you
that if he ever speaks a word to me again that is not what it
should be I will tell you."

"1 reckon I'll let him go, considerin' how set on it you are."

"But remember, Lew, that he is revengeful and you must be
on the lookout," said Betty gravely as she recalled the ma
lignant gleam jn Miller's eyes.

"He's dangerous only like a moccasin snake that hides in
the grass."

150 Betty Zane

"Am I all right? Do I look mussed or — or excited— or
Anything?" asked Betty.

Lewis smiled as she turned round for his benefit. Her hair
was a little awry and the lace at her neck disarranged. The
natural bloom had not quite returned to her cheeks. With a
look in his eyes that would have mystified Betty for many a
day had she but seen it he ran his gaze over the dainty figurec
Then reassuring her that she looked as well as ever, he led her
into the dance-room.

"So this is Betty Zane. Dear child, kiss me," said Grand
mother Watkins when Wetzel had brought Betty up to her.
"Now, let me get a good look at you. Well, well, you are a
true Zane. Black hair and eyes; all fire and pride. Child,
I knew your father and mother long before you were born.
Your father was a fine man but a proud one. And how do
you like the frontier? Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Betty, smiling brightly at the old
Jady.

"Well, dearie, have a good time while you can. Life is
hard in a pioneer's cabin. You will not always have the Col-
onel to look after you. They tell me you have been to some
grand school in Philadelphia. Learning is very well, but it
will not help you in the cabin of one of these rough men."

"There is a great need of education in all the pioneers'
homes. I have persuaded brother Eb to have a schoolteacher
at the Fort next spring."

"First teach the boys to plow and the girls to make Johnny-
cake. How much you favor your brother Isaac. He used U
come and see me often. So must you in summertime. Poo;
lad, I suppose he is dead by this time. I have seen so many
brave and good lads go. There now, I did not mean to make
you sad," and the old lady patted Betty's hand and s.ighed.

"He often spoke of you and said that I must come with
him to see you. Now he is gone," said Betty.

"Yes, he is gone, Betty, but you must not be sad whiL? you
are so young. Wait until you are old like I am. How long
have you known Lew Wetzel?"

"All my life. He used to carry me in his arm* when I

Betty Zane 151

was a baby. Of course I do not remember that, but as far
back as I can go in memory I can see Lew. Oh, the manj
times he has saved me from disaster! But why do you ask?"

"I think Lew Wetzel cares more for you than for all the
world. He is as silent as an Indian, but I am an old woman
and I can read men's hearts. If he could be made to give
up his wandering life he would be the best man on the
border."

"Oh, indeed I think you are wrong. Lew does not care
for me in that way," said Betty, surprised ar/d troubled by the
old lady's vehemence.

A loud blast from a hunting-horn directed the attention of
all to the platform at the upper end of the hall, where Dan
Watkins stood. The fiddlers ceased playing, the dancers
stopped, and all looked expectantly. The scene was simple,
strong, and earnest. The light in' the eyes of these maidens
shone like the light from the pine cones on the walls. It
beamed soft and warm. These fearless sons of the wilder
ness, these sturdy sons of progress, standing there clasping
the hands of their partners and with faces glowing with hap
piness, forgetful of all save the enjoyment of the moment,
were ready to go out on the morrow and battle unto the death
for the homes and the lives of their loved ones.

"Friends," said Dan when the hum of voices had ceased,
"I never thought as how I'd have to get up here and make a
speech to-night or I might have taken to the woods. How-
somever, mother and Susan says as it's gettin' late it's about
time we had some supper Somewhere in the big cake is hid
a gold ring. If one of the girls gets it she can keep it as a
gift from Susan, and should one of the boys find it he may
make a present to his best girl. And in the bargain he gets
to kiss Susan. She made some objection about this and said
that part of the game didn't go, but I reckon the lucky young
man will decide that for hisself. And now to the festal
board,"

Ample justice was done to the turkey, the venison, and the
bear meat. Grandmother Watkins' delicious apple and
jpumpkin pies, for which she was renowned, disappeared as by

B e 1 1 y Z a n e

magic. Likewise the cakes and the sweet cider and the apple
butter vanished.

When the b,ig cake had been cut and divided among the
guests, Wetzel discovered the gold ring within his share. He
presented the ring to Betty, and gave his privilege of kissing
Susan to George Reynolds, with the remark : "George, I cal-
kilate Susan would like it better if you do the kissin' part."
Now it was known to all that George had long been an ardent
admirer of Susan's, and it was suspected that she was not in
different to him. Nevertheless, she protested that it was not fair.
George acted like a man who had the opportunity of his life.
Amid uproarious laughter he ran Susan all over the room, and
when he caught her he pulled her hands away from her blush
ing face and bestowed a right hearty kiss on her cheek. To
everyone's surprise and to Wetzel's discomfiture, Susan walked
up to h,im and saying that as he had taken such an easy way
tut of it she intended to punish him by kissing him. And so
ihe did. Poor Lewis' face looked the picture of dismay.
Probably he had never been kissed before in his life.

Happy hours speed away on the wings of the wind. The
feasting over, the good-byes were spoken, the girls were
trapped in the warm robes, for it was now intensely cold, and
Boon the horses, eager to start on the long homeward journey,
were pulling hard on their bits. On the party's return trip
there was an absence of the hilarity which had prevailed on
their coming. The bells were taken off before the sleds left
the blockhouse, and the traces and the harness examined and
tightened with the caution of men who were apprehensive of
danger and who would take no chances.

In winter time the foes most feared by the settlers were the
timber wolves. Thousands of these savage beasts infested
the wild forest regions which bounded the lonely roads, and
their wonderful power of scent and swift and tireless pursuit
made a long night ride a thing to be dreaded. While the
horses moved sw,iftly danger from wolves was not imminent;
but carelessness or some mishap to a trace or a wheel had been
the cause of more than one tragedy.

Therefore it was not remarkable that the drivers of our

Letty Zane 153

party breathed a sigh of relief when the top of the last steep
lii 11 had been reached. The girls were quiet, and tired out
and cold they pressed close to one another; the men were si
lent and watchful.

When they were half way home and had just reached the
outskirts of the Black Forest the keen ear of Wetzel caught
the cry of a wolf. It came from the south and sounded so
; faint that Wetzel believed at first that he had been mistaken.
A few moments passed in which the hunter turned his ear to
the south. He had about made up his mind that he had only
imagined he had heard something when the unmistakable yelp
of a wolf came down on the wind. Then another, this time
clear and distinct, caused the driver to turn and whisper to
Wetzel. The hunter spoke in a low tone and the driver
whipped up his horses. From out the depths of the dark
woods along which they were riding came a long and mourn
ful howl. It was a wolf answering the call of his mate. This
time the horses heard it, for they threw back their ears and in
creased their speed. The girls heard it, for they shrank
closer to the men.

There is that which is frightful in the cry of a wolf. When
one is safe in camp before a roaring fire the short, sharp bark
of a wolf is startling, and the long howl will make one shud
der. It is so lonely and dismal. It makes no difference
whether it be given while the wolf is sitting on his haunches
near some cabin waiting for the remains of the settler's din
ner, or while he is in full chase after his prey — the cry js
equally wild, savage and bloodcurdling.

' Betty had never heard it and though she was brave, when
the howl from the forest had its answer in another howl from
the creek thicket, she slipped her little mittened hand under
Wetzel's arm and looked up at him with frightened eyes.

In half an hour the full chorus of yelps, barks and howls
swelled hideously on the air, and the ever .increasing pack of
wolves could be seen scarcely a hundred yards behind the
sleds. The patter of their swiftly flying feet on the snow
could be distinctly heard. The slender, dark forms came
nearer and nearer every moment. Presently the wolves had

Betty Zana

approached close enough for the occupants of the sleds to
see their shining eyes looking like little balls of green fire.
A gaunt beast bolder than the others, and evidently the leader
of the pack, bounded forward until he was only a few yards
from the last sled. At every jump he opened his great jaws
and uttered a quick bark as jf to embolden his followers.

Almost simultaneously with the red flame that burst from
Wetzel's rifle came a sharp yelp of agony from the leader.
He rolled over and over. Instantly followed a horrible ming
ling of snarls and barks, and snapping of jaws as the band
fought over the body of their luckless comrade.

This short delay gave the advantage to the horses. When
the wolves again appeared they were a long way behind. The
distance to the fort was now short and the horses were urged
to their utmost. The wolves kept up the chase until they
reached the creek bridge and the mill. Then they slowed up,
the howling became desultory, and finally the dark forms dis
appeared in the thickets.

CHAPTER VIII.

INTER dragged by uneventfully
for Betty. Unlike the other pio
neer girls, who were kept busy all
the time with their mending, and
linsey weaving, and household du
ties, Betty had nothing to divert
her but her embroidery and her
reading. These she found very
tiresome. Her maid was devoted
to her and never left a thing un
done. Annie was old Sam's daughter, and she had waited on
Betty since she had been a baby. The cleaning or mending
or darning — anything in the shape of work that would have
helped pass away the monotonous hours for Betty, was always
done before she could lift her hand.

During the day she passed hours in her little room and
most of them were dreamed away by her window. Lydia
and Alice came over sometimes and wlu'led away the tedious
moments with their bright chatter and merry laughter, their
castle-building, and their romancing on heroes and love and
marriage as girls always will until the end of time. They
had not forgotten Mr. Clarke, but as Betty had rebuked them
with a dignity which forbade any further teasing on that
score, they had transferred their fun-making to the use of Mr,
Miller's name.

Fearing her brothers' wrath Betty had not told them of
the scene with Miller at the dance. She had learned enough
of rough border justice to dread the consequence of such a
disclosure. She permitted Miller to come to the house, al
though she never saw him alone. Miller had accepted this
favor gratefully. He said that on the night of the dance
he had been a little the worse for Dan Watkins' strong liquor,
and that, together with his bitter disappointment, made him

act in the mad way which had so grievously offended her.

HI

156 •- e 1 1 y Z a n e

He exerted himself to win her forgiveness. Betty was always
tender-hearted, and though she did not trust him, she said
they might still be friends, but that that depended on
his respect for her forbearance. Miller had promised he
would never refer to the old subject and he had kept his
word.

Indeed Betty welcomed any diversion for the long winter
evenings. Occasionally some of the young people visited
her, and they sang and danced, roasted apples, popped chest
nuts, and played games. Often Wetzel and Major McGolloch
came in after supper. Betty would come down and sing for
them, and afterward would coax Indian lore and woodcraft
from Wetzel, or she would play checkers with the Major.
If she succeeded in winning from him, which in truth was not
often, she teased him unmercifully. When Col. Zane and
the Major had settled down to their series of games, from
which nothing short of Indians could have diverted them,
Betty sat by Wetzel. The silent man of the woods, an ap
pellation the hunter had earned by his reticence, talked for
Betty as he would for no one else.

One night while Col. Zane. his wife and Betty were enter
taining Capfc. Boggs and Major McColloch and several of
Betty's girls friends, after the usual music and singing, story
telling became the order of the evening. Little Noah told of
the time he had climbed the apple-tree in the yard after a
raccoon and got severely bitten.

"One day," said Noah, "I heard Tige barking out in the
orchard and I ran out there and saw a funny little fur ball
up in the tree with a black tail and white rings around it. It
looked like a pretty cat with a sharp nose. Every time Tige
barked the little animal showed his teeth and swelled up his
back. I wanted him for a pet. I got Sam to give me a sack
and I climbed the tree and the nearer I got to him the farther
he backed down the limb. I followed him and put out the
sack to put it over his head and he bit me. I fell from the
limb, but he fell too and T,ige killed him and Sam stuffed
him for me."

"Noah, you are quite a valiant hunter," said Betty. "Now,

Betty Zane 157

Jonathan, remember that you promised to tell me of your
meeting with Daniel Boone."

"It was over on the Muskingong near the mouth of the
Sandusky. I was hunting in the open woods along the bank
when I saw an Indian. He saw me at the same time and we
both treed. There we stood a long time each afraid to chancre
position. Finally I began to get tired and resorted to an
old ruse. I put my coon-skin cap on my ramrod and cau
tiously-poked it from behind the tree, expecting every second
to hear the whistle of the redskin's bullet. Instead I heard
a jolly voice yell : "Hey, young feller, you'll have to try some
thing better'n that.' I looked and saw a white man standing
out in the open and shaking all over with laughter. I went
up to him and found him to be a b,ig strong fellow with an
honest, merry face. He said: 'I'm Boone.' I was consider
ably taken aback, especially when I saw he knew I was a
white man all the time. We camped and hunted along the
river a week and at the Falls of the Muskingong he struck
out for his Kentucky home."

"Here is Wetzel," said Col. Zane, who had risen and gone
to the door. "Now, Betty, try and get Lew to tell us some
thing."

"Come, Lewis, herr is a seat by me," said Betty. "We
have been pleasantly passing the tjme. We have had bear
stories, snake stories, ghost stories — all kinds of tales. Will
you tell us one?"

"Lewis, did you ever have a chance to kill a hostile Indian
and not take it?" asked Col. Zane.

"Never but once," answered Lewis.

"Tell us about it. I imagine it will be .interesting."

"Well, I ain't good at tellin' things," began Lewis. "I
reckon I've seen some strange sights. I kin tell you about the
only redskin I ever let off. Three years ago I was takin*
a fall hunt over on the Big Sandy, and I run into a party of
Shawnees. I plugged a chief and started to run. There
was some good runners and I couldn't shake 'em in the open
country. Comin' to the Ohio I jumped in and swum across,
keepin' my rifle and powder dry by holdin' 'em up. I hicJ

168 Betty Zane

in some bulrushes and waited. Pretty soon along comes three
Injuns, and when they saw where I had taken to the water
they stopped and held a short pow-wow. Then they all took to
the water. This was what I was waitin' for. When they
got nearly acrosst I shot the first redskin, and loadin' quick
J got a bullet into the others. The last Injun did not sink.
I watched him go floatin' down stream expectin' every minute
to see him go under as he was hurt so bad he could hardly
keep his head above water. He floated down a long ways and
the current carried him to a pile of driftwood which had
lodged against a little island. I saw the Injun crawl up on
the drift. I went down stream and by keepin' the island be
tween me and him I got out to where he was. I pulled my
tomahawk and went around the head of the island and found
the redskin leanin' against a big log. He was a young brave
and a fine lookin' strong feller. He was try in' to stop the
blood from my bullet-hole in his side. When he saw me he
tried to get up, but he was too weak. He smiled, pointed
to the wound and said : 'Deathwind not heap times bad shot.*
Then he bowed his head and waited for the tomahawk. Well,
I picked him up and carried him ashore and made a shack
by a spring. I staid there with him. When he got well
enough to stand a few days' travel I got him across the river
and givin' him a hunk of deer meat I told him to go, and
if I ever saw him again I'd make a better shot.

"A year afterwards I trailed two Shawnees into Winge-
mind's camp and got surrounded and captured. The Dela
ware chief is my great enemy. They beat me, shot salt into
my legs, made me run the gauntlet, tied me on the back of a
wild mustang. Then they got ready to burn me at the stake.
That night they painted my face black and held the usual
death dances. Some of the braves got drunk and worked
themselves into a frenzy. I allowed I'd never see daylight.
I seen that one of the braves left to guard me was the young
feller I had wounded the year before. He never took no no
tice of me. In the gray of the early mornin' when all were
asleep and the other watch dozin5 I felt cold steel between my
imsts and my buckskin thongs dropped off. Then my feet

Betty Zane 159

were cut loose. I looked round and in the dim light I seen my
young brave. He handed me my own rifle, knife and toma
hawk, put his finger on his lips and with a bright smile, as if
to say he was square with me, he pointed to the east. I was
out of sight in a niinute."

"How noble of him!" exclaimed Betty, her eyes all aglow.
"He paid his debt to you, perhaps at the price of his life."

"I have never known an Indian to forget a promise, or a
kind action, or an injury," observed Col. Zane.

"Are the Indians half as bad as they are called?" asked
Betty. "I have heard as many stories of their nobility as of
their cruelty."

"The Indians consider that they have been robbed and
driven from their homes. What we think hideously inhuman
is war to them," answered Col. Zane.

"Wheii I came here from Fort Pitt I expected to see and
fight Indians every day," said Capt. Boggs. "I have been
here at Wheeling for nearly two years r • d have never seen
a hostile Indian. There have been some Indians in the vicin
ity during that time, but not one has shown himself to me.
I'm not up to Indian tricks, 1 know, but 1 think the last siege
must have been onough for them. I don't believe we shall have
any more ^rouble from them."

"Captain/5 called out Col. Zane, banging his hand on the
table. "I'll bet you my best horse to a keg of gunpowder
that you see enough Indians before you are a year older to
make you wish you had never seen or heard of the western
border."

"And I'll go you the same bet," said Major McColloch.

"You see, Captain, you must understand a little of the na
ture of the Indian," continued Col. Zane. "We have had
proof that the Dela wares and the Shawnees have been pre
paring for an expedition for months. We shall have another
siege some day and to my thinking it will be a longer and
harder one than the last. What say you, Wetzel?"

"I ain't sayin' much, but I don't calkilate on goin' on any
long hunts this summer/' answered the hunter.

"And do you think Tarhe, Wingenund, Pipe, Cornplanter,

160 Betty Zane

and all those chiefs will unite their forces and attack us?"
asked Betty of Wetzel.

"Cornplanter won't. He has been paid for most of his
land and he ain't so bitter. Tarhe is not likely to bother us.
But Pipe and Wingenund and Red Fox — they all want
blood."

"Have you seen these chiefs?" said Betty.

"Yes, I know 'em all and they all know me," answered the
Tranter. "I've watched over many a trail waitin' for one of
'em. If I can ever get a shot at any of 'em I'll give up In
juns and go farim'n'. Good night, Betty."

"What a strange man is Wetzel," mused Betty, after the
visitors had gone. "Do you know, Eb, he is not at all like any
one else. I have seen the girls shudder at the mention of his
name and I have heard them say they could not look in his
eyes. He does not affect me that way. It is not often I
can get him to talk, but sometimes he tells me beautiful thirigi
about the woods ; how he lives in the w.ilderness, his home un
der the great trees; how every leaf on the trees and every
blade of grass has its joy for him as well as its knowledge;
how he curls up in his little bark shack anr1 is lulled to sleep
by the sighing of the wind through the pine tops. He told
me he has often watched the stars for hours at a time. I know
there is a waterfall back in the Black Forest somewhere that
Lewis goes to, s,imply to sit and watch the water tumble over
the precipice."

"Wetzel is a wonderful character, even to those who know
him only as an Indian slayer and a man who wants no other
occupation. Some day he will go off on one of these long
jaunts and will never return. That is certain. The day is
fast approaching when a man like Wetzel will be of no use
in life. Now, he ,is a necessity. Like Tige he can smell In
dians. Betty, I believe Lewis tells you so much and is so
kind and gentle toward you because he cares for you."

"Of course Lew likes me. I know he does and I want him
to,'* said Betty. "But he does not care as you seem to think.
Grandmother Watkins said the same. I am sure both of you
are wrong."

B e 1 1 y Z a n e 161

"Did Dan's mother tell you that? Well, she's pretty
shrewd. It's quite likely, Betty, quite likely. It seems tc
me you are not so quick witted as you used to be."

"Why so?" asked Betty, quickly.

"Well, you used to be different somehow," said her brother,
as he patted her hand.

"Do you mean I am more thoughtful?'"

"Yes, and sometimes you seem sad."

"I have tried to be brave and — and happy," said Bett^
her voice trembling slightly.

"Yes, yes, I know you have, Betty. You have done won
derfully well here in this dead place. But tell me, don't be
angry, don't you think too much of some one?"

"You have no rjght to ask me that," said Betty, flushing
and turning away toward the stairway.

"Well, well, child, don't mind me. I did not mean any-
thing. There, good night, Betty."

Long after she had gone up-stairs Col. Zane sat by his
fireside. From time to time he sighed. He thought of the
old Virginia home and of the smile of hjis mother. It seemed
only a few short years since he had promised her that he
would take care of the baby sister. How had he kept that
promise, made when Betty was a little thing bouncing on his
knee? It seemed only yesterday. How swift the flight of
time ! Already Betty was a woman ; her sweet, gay girlhood
had passed ; already a shadow had fallen on her face, the

shadow of a secret sorrow.

*********

March with jts blustering winds had departed, and now
April's showers and sunshine were gladdening the hearts of
the settlers. Patches of green freshened the slopes of the
hills ; the lilac bushes showed tiny leaves, and the maple-buds
were bursting. Yesterday a blue-bird — -surest harbinger of
spring — had alighted on the fence-post and had sung his
plaintive song. A few more days and the blossoms were out
mingling the.ir pink and white with the green; the red-bud,
the hawthorne, and the dog-wood were in bloom, checkering
the hillsides.

B e 1 1 y 2 a n c

"Bessie, spring is here," said Col. Zane, as he stood in the
doorway. "The air is fresh, the sun shines warm, the birds
lire singing; it makes me feel good."

"Yes, it is pleasant to have spring with us again," an
swered iris wife. "I think, though, that. I i winter I am hap
pier. In summed I am always worried i. am afraid for the
children to be out of my sight, and when you are away on a
hunt I am distraught until you are home safe."

"Well, if the redskins let us alone this summer it will be
something new," he said, laughing. "By the way, Bess.
eome new people came to the fort last night. They rafted
down from the Monongahela settlements. Some of the women
suffered considerably. I intend to offer them the cabin on the
hill until they can cut the timber and run up a house. Sam
said the cabin roof leaked and the chimney smoked, but with
a little work I think they can be made more comfortable there
than at the block-house."

"It is the only vacant cabin in the settlement. I can sc~
commodate the women folks here."

"Well, we'll see about it. I don't want you and Betty in
convenienced. I'll send Sam up to the cabin and have him
fix things up a bit and make it more habitable."

The door opened, admitting Col. Zane's elder boy. The
lad's face was dirty, his nose was all bloody, and a big bruise
showed over his right eye.

"For the land's sake!" exclaimed his mother. "Look at
the boy. Noah, corne here. What have you been doing?"

Noah crept close to his mother and grasping her apron with
both hands hid his face. Mrs. Zane turned the boy around
and wiped his discolored features with a wet towel. She
gave him a little shake and said: "Noah, have you been
fighting again?"

"Let him go and I'll tell you about it," said the Colonel,
and when the youngster had disappeared he continued:
"Right after breakfast Noah went with me down to the null.
I noticed several children playing in front of Reihart's
blacksmith shop. I went in, leaving Noah outside. I got
the plow-share which I had left with Reihart to be repaired*

Betty Zane 163

He came to the door with me and all at once he said : *Loolt
at the kids.' I looked and saw Noah walk up to a boy and
say something to him. The lad was a stranger, and I have
no doubt belongs to these new people I told you about. He
was bigger than Noah. At first the older boy appeared very
friendly and evidently wanted to join the others in their
game. I guess Noah did not approve of this, for after he
had looked the stranger over he hauled away and punched
the lad soundly. To make it short the strange boy gave
Noah the worst beating he ever got in his life. I told Noah
to come straight to you and confess."

"Well, did you ever!" ejaculated Mrs. Zane. "Noah is a
bad boy. And you stood and watched him fight. You are
laughing about it now. Ebenezer Zane, I would not put it
beneath you to set Noah to fighting. I know you used to
make the little niggers fight. Anyway, it serves Noah right
and I hope it will be a lesson to him."

"I'll make you a bet, Bessie," said the Colonel, with another
laugh. "I'll bet you tiiat unless we lock him up, Noah will
fight that boy every day or every time he meets him.'*

"I won't bet," said Mrs. Zane, with a smile of resignation.

Cl Where's Betts? I haven't seen her this morning. I am
going over to Short Creek to-morrow or next day, and think
I'll take her with me. You know I am to get a commissioD
to lay out several settlements along the river, and I want tfl
get some work finished at Short Creek this spring. Mrs,
Raymer will be delighted to have Betty. Shall I take her?"

"By all means. A visit there will brighten her up and do
her good."

"Well, what on earth have you been doing?" crjed the
Colonel. His remark had been called forth by a charming
vision that had entered by the open door. Betty — for it was
she — wore a little red cap set jauntily on her black hair. Har
linsey dress was crumpled and covered with hayseed.

"I've been in the hay-mow," said Betty, waving a small
basket. "For a week that old black hen has circumvented
me, but at last I have conquered. I found the nest in tb*
farthest corner under the hay."

Betty Zane

"How did you get up jin the loft?" inquired Mrs. Zane.

"Bessie, I climbed up the ladder of course. I acknowledge
being unusually light-hearted and happy this morning, but
I have not as yet grown wings. Sam said I could not climb
up that straight ladder, but I found it easy enough."

"You should not climb up into the loft," said Mrs. Zane,
in a severe tone. "Only last fall Hugh Bennet's little boy
sl.id off the hay down into one of the stalls and the horse kicked
him nearly to death."

"Oh, fiddlesticks, Bessie, I am not a baby," said Betty 5 with
vehemence. "There is not a horse in the barn but would
ftand on his hind legs before he would step on me, let alone
kick me."

"I don't know, Betty, but I think that black horse Mr.
Clarke left here would kick any one," remarked the Colonel.

"Oh, no, he would not hurt me."

"Betty, we have had pleasant weather for about three
days," said the Colonel, gravely. "In that time you have
let out that crazy bear of yours to burn everything topsy
turvy. Only yesterday I got my hands in the paint you have
put on your canoe. If you had asked my advice I would
have told you that painting your canoe should not have been
done for a month yet. Silas told me you fell down the creek
hill; Sam said you tried to drive his team over the bluff, and
so on. We are happy to see you get back your old time
spirits, but could you not be a little more careful? Your
versatility is bewildering. We do not know what to look for
next. I fully expect to see you brought to the house some
day maimed for life, or all that beautiful black hair gone to
decorate some Huron's lodge."

"I tell you I am perfectly delighted that the weather is
again so I can go out. I am tired to death of staying in
doors. This morning I could have cried for very joy. Bessie
will soon be lecturing me about Madcap. I must not ride
farther than the fort. Well, I don't care. I intend to ride
all over."

**Betty, I do not wish you to think I am lecturing yon,"
*aid the Colonel's wife. "But you are as wild as a March hare,

Betty Zane 16c

and some one must tell you things. Nor* listen. My brother
the Major, told me that Simon Girty, the renegade, had been
heard to say that he had seen Eb Zane's little sister and that
if he ever got his hands on her he would make a squaw of her.
I am not teasing you. I am telling you the tvnt.h. Girty
saw you when you were at Fort Pitt two years ago. Now
what would you do .if he caught you on one of ycur lonely
rides and carried you off to his wigwam? He has done things
like that before. James Girty carried off one of the John
son girls. Her brothers tried to rescue her and lost their
lives. It is a common trick of the Indians."

"What would I do if Mr. Simon Girty tried to make a
squaw of me?" exclaimed Betty, her eyes flashing fire. "Why,
I'd kill him!"

"I believe it, Betts, on my word I do," spoke up the Colonel.
"But let us hope you may never see Girty. All I ask is that
you be careful. I am going over to Short Creek to-morrow.
Will you go with me? I know Mrs. Raymer will be pleased
to see you."

"Oh, Eb, that will be delightful!"

"Very well, get ready and we shall start early in the morn-
ing."

Two weeks later Betty returned from Short Creek and
seemed to have profited much by her short visit. Col. Zane
remarked with satisfaction to his wife that Betty had re
gained all her former cheerfulness.

The morning after Betty's return was a perfect spring
morning — the first in that month of May-days. The sun
shone bright and warm; the mayflowers blossomed; the trail
ing arbutus scented the a,ir; everywhere the grass and the
leaves looked fresh and green; swallows flitted in and out of
the barn door; the blue-birds twittered; a meadow-lark car
oled forth his pure melody, and the busy hum of bees came
from the fragrant apple-blossoms.

"Mis' Betty, Madcap 'pears powerfo9 skitteiiish," said old
Sam, when he had led the pony to where Betty stood on the
hitching block. "Whoa, dar, you rascal."

Betty laughed as she leaped lightly into the saddle, and

it>6 Betty Zanc

joon she was flying over the old familiar road, down across
the creek bridge, past the old grist-mill, around the fort and
then out on the river bluff. The Indian pony was fiery and
mettlesome. He pranced and side-stepped, galloped and
trotted by turns. He seemed as glad to get out again into
the warm sunshine as was Betty herself. He tore down the
road a mile at his best spec'" Coming back Betty pulled him
into a walk. Presently he* musings were interrupted by a
sharp switch in the face from a twig of a tree. She stopped
the pony and broke off the offending branch. As she looked
around the recollection of what had happened to her in that
very spot flashed into her mind. It was here that she had
been stopped by the man who had passed almost as swiftly
out of her life as he had crossed her path that memorable
afternoon. She fell to musing on the old perplexing ques
tion. After all could there not have been some mistake?
Perhaps she might have misjudged him? And then the old
spirit, which resented her thinking of him in that softened
mood, rose and fought the old battle over again. But as
often happened the mood conquered, and Betty permitted
herself to sink for the moment into the sad thoughts which
returned like a mournful strain of music once sung by be
loved voices, now forever silent.

She could not resist the desire to ride down to the old
sycamore. The pony turned into the bridle-path that led
down the bluff and the sure-footed beast picked his way
carefully over the roots and stones. Betty's heart beat quicker
when she saw the noble tree under whose spreading branches
she had spent the happiest day of her life. The old monarch
of the forest was not one whit changed by the wild winds
of winter. The dew sparkled on the nearly full grown leaves ;
the little sycamore balls were already as large as marbles.

Betty drew rein at the top of the bank and looked absently
at the tree and into the foam covered pool beneath. At that
moment her eyes saw nothing physical. They held the far
away light of the dreamer, the look that sees so much of the
past and nothing of the present.

Presently her reflections were broken by the actions of the

Betty Zane

pony. Madcap had thrown up her head, laid back her ears,
and commenced to paw the ground with her forefeet. Betty
looked round to see the cause of Madcap's excitement. What
was that ! She saw a tall figure clad in bro^vn leaning against
the stone. She saw a long fishing-rod. What was there sc
familiar in the poise of that figure? Madcap dislodged t
stone from the path and it went rattling down the rocky
slope and fell with a splash into the water. The man heard
it, turned and faced the hillside. Betty recognized Alfred
Clarke. For a moment she believed she must be dreaming.
She had had many dreams of the old sycamore. She looked
again. Yes, it was he. Pale, worn, and older he undoubtedly
looked, but the features were surely those of Alfred Clarke.
Her heart gave a great bound and then seemed to stop beat
ing while a very agony of joy surged over her and made he*
faint. So he still lived. That was her first thought, glad and
joyous, and then memory returning, her face went white as
with clenched teeth she wheeled Madcap and struck her witb
the switch. Once on the level bluff she urged her toward the
house at a furious pace.

Col. Zane had just stepped out of the barn door and his
face took on an expression of amazement when he saw the
pony come tearing up the road, Betty's hair flying in the
wind and with a face as white as if she were pursued by &
thousand }^elling Indians.

"Say, Betts, what the deuce is wrong?" cried the Colonel,
when Betty reached the fence.

"Why did you not tell me that man was here again?" she
demanded in intense excitement.

"That man! What man?" asked Col. Zane, considerably
taken back by this angry apparition.

"Mr. Clarke, of course. Just as if you did not know. I
suppose you thought it a fine opportunity for one of your
jokes."

"Oh, Clarke. Well, the fact is I just found it out myself.
Haven't I been away as well as you. I certainly cannot
imagine how any man could create such evident excitement in
your mind. Poor Clarke, what has he done now?"

168 Betty Zaner

"You might have told me. Somebody could have told me
nnd saved me from making a fool of myself," retorted Betty,
seho was plainly on the verge of tears. "I rode down to the
aid sycamore tree and he saw me in, of all the places in the
world, the one place where I would not want him to see me."

"Huh!" said the Colonel, who often gave vent to the In
dian exclamation. "Is that all? I thought something had
happened."

"All! Is it not enough? I would rather have died. He
is a man and he will think I followed him down there, that
I was thinking of — that — Oh!" cried Betty, passionately,
and then she strode into the house, slammed the door, and
left the Colonel, lost in wonder.

"Humph! These women beat me. I can't make them out,
and the older I grow the worse I get," he said, as he led the
pony into the stable.

Betty ran up-stairs to her room, her head in a whirL
Stronger than the surprise of Alfred's unexpected appear
ance in Fort Henry and stronger than the mortification in
having been discovered going to a spot she should have been
too proud to remember was the bitter sweet consciousness
that his mere presence had thrilled her through and through.
It hurt her and made her hate herself in that moment. She
hid her face in shame at the thought that she could not help
being glad to see the man who had only trifled with her, the
man who had considered the acquaintance of so little conse
quence that he had never taken the trouble to write her a line
or send her a message. She wrung her trembling hands.
She endeavored to still that throbbing heart and to conquer
that sweet vague feeling which had crept over her and made
her weak. The tears began to come and with a sob she threw
herself on the bed and buried her head in the pillow.

An hour after, when Betty had quieted herself and had
seated herself by the window a light knock sounded on the
door and Col. Zane entered. He hesitated and came in rather
timidly, for Betty was not to be taken liberties with, and see-
*ng her by the window lie crossed the room and sat down by
aer side.

Betty Zane 169

Betty did riot remember her father or her mother. Long
ago when she was a child she had gone to her brother, la.id her
head on his shoulder and told him all her troubles. The de
sire grew strong within her now. There was comfort in the
strong clasp of his hand. She was not proof against it, and

her dark head fell on his shoulder.

*********

Alfred Clarke had indeed made his reappearance in. Fort
Henry. The preceding October when he left the settlement
to go on the expedition up the Monongahela River his in
tention had been to return to the fort as soon as he had fin
ished bis work, but what he did do was only another illustra
tion of that fatality which affects everything. Man hopefully
makes his plans and an inexorable destiny works out what
it has in store for him.

The men of the expedition returned to Fort Henry in due
time, but Alfred had been unable to accompany them. He
had sustained a painful injury and had been compelled to go
to Fort Pitt for medical assistance. While there he had re
ceived word that his mother was lying very ill at his old home
in Southern Virginia and if he wished to see her alive he
must not delay in reaching her bedside. He left Fort Pitt
at once and went to his home, where he remained until his
mother's death. She had been the only tie that bound him to
the old home, and now that she was gone he determined to
leave the scene of his boyhood forever.

Alfred was the rightful hejr to all of the property, but
an unjust and selfish stepfather stood between him and any
contentment he might have found there. He decided he would
he a soldier of fortune. He loved the daring life of a ranger,
and preferred to take his chances with the hardy settlers on
the border rather than live the idle life of a gentleman farmer.
He declared his intention to his step-father, who ill-concealed
his satisfaction at the turn affairs had taken. Then Alfred
packed his belongings, secured his mother's jewels, and with
one sad, backward glance rode away from the stately old
mansion.

It was Sunday morning and Clarke had been two days in

170 Betty Zane

Fort Henry. From his little room in the block-house he sur
veyed the well-remembered scene. The rolling hills, the
broad river, the green forests seemed like old friends.

"Here 1 am again," he mused. "What a fool a man can
be. I have left a fine old plantation, slaves, horses, a country
noted for ,its pretty women — for what? Here there can be
nothing for me but Indians, hard work, privation, and trou
ble. Yet I could not get here quickly enough. Pshaw ! What
use to speak of the possibilities of a new country. I cannot
deceive myself. It is she. I would walk a thousand miles
and starve myself for months just for one glimpse of her
sweet face. Knowing this what care I for all the rest. How
stra" ije she should ride down to the old sycamore tree yester
day ^t the moment I was there and thinking of her. Evi
dently she had just returned from her visit. I wonder if she
ever cared. I wonder if she ever thinks of me. Shall I accept
that incident as a happy augury? Well, I am here to find out
and find out I will. Aha ! there goes the church bell."

Laughing a little at his eagerness he brushed his coat, put
on his cap and went down stairs. The settlers with their
families were going into the meeting house. As Alfred
started up the steps he met Lydia Boggs.

"Why, Mr. Clarke, I heard you had returned," she said,
smiling pleasantly and extending her hand. "Welcome to
the fort. I am very glad to see you."

While they were chatting her father and Col. Zane came
up and both greeted the young man warmly.

"Well, well, back on the frontier," said the Colonel, in his
hearty way. "Glad to see you at the fort again. I tell you,
Clarke, I have taken a fancy to that black horse you left me
last fall. I did not know what to think when Jonathan
brought back my horse. To tell you the truth I always
looked for you to come back. What have you been doing all
Winter?"

"I have been f .1 I jme. My mother was ill all winter and
•he died in April."

"Mr lad, that's bad news. I am sorry," said Col. Zane,
putting his hand kindly on the young man's shoulder. "1

Betty Zane 111

was wondering what gave you that older and graver look.
It's hard, lad, but it's the way of life."

"I have come back to get my old place with you, Col. Zane,
if you will give it to me."

"I will, and can promise you more in the future. I am
going to open a road through to Maysville, Kentucky, and
start several new settlements along the river. I will need
young men, and am more than glad you have returned."

"Thank you, Col. Zane. That is more than I could have
hoped for."

Alfred caught sight of a trim figure in a gray linsey gown
coming down the road. There were several young people
approaching, but he saw only Betty. By some evil chance
Betty walked with Ralfe Miller, and for some mysterious
reason, which women always keep to themselves, she smiled
and looked up into his face at 0 time of all times
she should not have done so. Alfred's heart turned
to lead.

Wher the young people reached the steps the eyes of the
rivals met for one brief second, but that was long enough for
them to understand each other. They did not speak. Lydia
hesitated and looked toward Betty.

"Betty, here is " began Col. Zane, but Betty passed

them with flaming cheeks and with not so much as a glance at
Alfred. It was an awkward moment for him.

"Let us go in," he said composedly, and they all filed into
the church.

As long as he lived Alfred Clarke never forgot that hour.
His pride kept him chained in his seat. Outwardly he main
tained his composure, tut inwardly his brain seemed throb
bing, whirling, bursting. What an idiot he had been! He
understood now why his letter had never been answered. Betty
loved Miller, a man who hated him, a man who would leave no
stone unturned to destroy even a little liking which she might
have frit for him. Once again Miller had crossed his path
and worsted him. With a sudden sickening sense of despair
he realized that all his fond hopes had been but dreams, a
fool's dreams. The dream of that moment when he would

172 Betty Zane

give her his mother's jewels, the dream of that charming face
uplifted to his, the dream of the little cottage to which he
would hurry after his day's* work and find her waiting at the
gate, — these dreams must be dispelled forever. He could
barely wait until the end of the service. He wanted to be
alone; to fight it out with himself; to crush out of his heart
that fair image. At length the hour ended and he got out
before the congregation and hurried to his room.

Betty had company all that afternoon and it was late in
the day when Col. Zane ascended the stairs and entered her
room to find her alone.

"Betty, I wish to know why you ignored Mr. Clarke this
morning?" said Col. Zane, looking down on his sister. There
was a gleam in his eye and an expression about his mouth sel
dom seen in the Colonel's features.

"I do not know that it concerns any one but myself," an
swered Betty quickly, as her head went higher and her eyes
flashed with a gleam not unlike that in her brother's.

"I beg your pardon. I do not agree with you," replied
Col. Zane. "It does concern others. You cannot io things
like that in this little place where every one knows all about
you and expect it to pass unnoticed. Martin's wife saw you
cut Clarke and you know what a gossip she is. Already every
one is talking about you and Clarke."

"To that I am indifferent."

"But I care. I won't have people talking about you," re
plied the Colonel, who began to lose patience. Usually he had
the best temper imaginable. "Last fall you allowed Clarke to
pay you a good deal of attention and apparently you were
on good terms when he went away. Now that he has re*
turned you won't even speak to him. You let this fellow
Miller run after you. In my estimation Miller is not to be
compared to Clarke, and judging from the warm greetings I
saw Clarke receive this morning, there are a number of folk
who agree with me. Not that I am praising Clarke. I sim
ply say this because to Bessie, to Jack, to everyone, your act
is incomprehensible. People are calling you a flirt and saying
that they would prefer some country manners."

Betty Zane

"I have not allowed Mr. Miller to run after me, as you are
pleased to term it," retorted Betty with indignation. "I do
not like him. I never see him any more unless you or Bessie
or some one else is present. You know that. I cannot pre
vent him from walking to church with me."

"No, I suppose not, but are you entirely innocent of those
sweet glances which you gave him this morning?"

"I did not," cried Betty with an angry flush. "I won't be
called a flirt by you or by anyone else. The moment I am
civil to some man all these old maids and old women say I am
flirting. It is outrageous."

"Now, Betty, don't get excited. We are getting from the
question. Why are you not civil to Clarke?" asked Col. Zane.
She did not answer and after a moment he continued. "If
there is anything about Clarke that I do not know and that I
should know I want you to tell me. Personally I like the fel
low. I am not saying that to make you think you ought to
like him because I do. You might not care for him at all,
but that woud be no good reason for your actions. Betty, in
these frontier settlements a man is soon known for his real
worth. Every one at the Fort liked Clarke. The youngsters
adored him. Bessie liked him very much. You know he and
Isaac became good friends. I think he acted like a man to
day. I saw the look Miller gave him. I don't like this fel
low Miller, anyway. Now, I am taking the trouble to tell
you my side of the argument. It is not a question of your
liking Clarke — that is none of my affair. It is simply that
either he is not the man we all think him or you are acting in
a way unbecoming a Zane. I do not purpose to have this
state of affairs continue. Now, enough of this beating about
ihe bush."

Betty had seen the Colonel angry more than once, but never
with her. It was quite certain she had angered him and she
forgot her own resentment. Her heart had warmed with her
brother's praise of Clarke. Then as she remembered the past
she felt a scorn for her weakness and such a revulsion of feel
ing that she cried out passionately:

"He is a trifler. He never cared for rr.e. He insulted

174 Betty Zane

Col. Zane reached for his hat, got up without saying an
other word and went down stairs.

Betty had not intended to say quite what she had and in
stantly regretted her hasty words. She called to the Colonel,
but he did not answer her, nor return.

"Betty, what in the world could you have said to my hus
band?" said Mrs. Zane as she entered the room. She was
breathless from running up the stairs and her comely face
wore a look of concern. "He was as white as that sheet and
he stalked off toward the Fort without a word to me."

"I simply told him Mr. Clarke had insulted me," answered
Betty calmly.

"Great Heavens! Betty, what have you done?" exclaimed
Mrs. Zane. ''You don't know Eb when he is angry. He is
a, big fool over you, anyway. He is liable to kill Clarke."

Betty's blocc was up now and she said that would not be a
/latter of much importance.

"When did he insult you?" asked the elder woman, yielding
to her natural curiosity.

"It was last October."

"Pooh ! It took you a long time to tell it. I don't believe
it amounted to much. Mr. Clarke did not appear to be the
sort of a man to insult anyone. All the girls were crazy about
him last year. If he was not all right they would not have
been."

"I do not care if they were. The girls can have him and
welcome. I don't want him. I never did. I am tired of
hearing everyone eulogize him. I hate him. Do you hear?
I hate him! And I wish you would go away and leave m«
alone."

"Well, Betty, all I will say is that you are a remarkable
young woman," answered Mrs. Zane, who saw plainly that
Betty's violent outburst was a prelude to a storm of weeping.
"I don't believe a word you have said. I don't believe you
hate him. There !"

Col. Zane walked straight to the Fort, entered the block
house and knocked on the door of Clarke's room. A voice
bade him come in. He shoved opep the door and went into

Betty Zane 175

the room. Clarke had evidently just returned from a tramp
in the hills, for his garments were covered with burrs
and his boots were dusty. He looked tired, but his face was
calm.

"Why, Col. Zane! Have a seat. What can I do for
you?"

"I have come to ask you to explain a remark of my sister's.'*

"Very well, I am at your service," answered Alfred slowly,
lighting his pipe, after which he looked straight into Col.
Zane's face.

"My sister informs me that you insulted her last fall before
you left the Fort. I am sure you are neither a liar nor a
coward, and I expect you to answer as a man."

"Col. Zane, I am not a liar, and I hope I am not a coward,"
said Alfred coolty. He took a long pull on his pipe and blew
a puff of white smoke toward the ceiling.

"I believe you, but I must have an explanation. There
is something wrong somewhere. I saw Betty pass you with
out speaking this morning. I did not like it and I took her
to task about it. She then said you had insulted her. Betty
is prone to exaggerate, especially when angry, but she never
told me a lie in her life. Ever since you pulled Isaac out of
the river I have taken an interest in you. That's why I'd
like to avoid any trouble. But this thing has gone far enough.
Now be sensible, swallow your pride and let me hear your
side of the story."

Alfred had turned pale at his visitor's first words. There
was no mistaking Col. Zane's manner. Alfred well knew that
the Colonel, if he found Betty had really been insulted, would
call him out and kill him. Col. Zane spoke quietly, ever,
kindly, but there was an undercurrent of intense feeling in his
voice, a certain deadly intent which boded ill to anyone who
might cross him at that moment. Alfred's first impulse was a
reckless desire to tell Col. Zane he had nothiner to explain and
that he stood ready to give any satisfaction in his power. But
he wisely thought better of this. It struck him that this
would not be fair, for no matter what the erirl had done the
Colonel had always been his friend. So Alfred pulled himself

176 Betty Zane

together and resolved to make a clean breast of the whole
affair.

"Col. Zane, I do not feel that I owe your sister anything,
and what I am going to tell you is simply because you have
always been my friend, and I do not want you to have any
wrong ideas about me. I'll tell you the truth and you can
be the judge as to whether or not I insulted your sister. I
fell in love with her, almost at first sight. The night after
the Indians recaptured your brother, Betty and I stood out in
the moonlight and she looked so bewitching and I felt so sorry
for her and so carried away by my love for her that I yielded
to a momentary impulse and kissed her. I simply could not
help it. There is no excuse for me. She struck me across the
face and ran into the house. I had intended that night to tell
her of my love and place my fate in her hands, but, of course,
the unfortunate occurrence made that impossible. As I was
to leave at dawn next day, I remained up all night, thinking
what I ought to do. Finally I decided to write. I wrote her
a letter, telling her all and begging her to become my wife.
I gave the letter to your slave, Sam, and told him it was a
matter of life and death, and not to lose the letter nor fail to
give it to Betty. I have had no answer to that letter. To-
day she coldly ignored me. That is my story, Col. Zane."

"Well, I don't believe she got the letter," said Col. Zane.
"She has not acted like a young lady who has had the privi
lege of saying 'yes' or 'no' to you. And Sam never had any
use for you. He disliked you from the first, and never failed
to say something against you."

"I'll kill that d — n nigger if he did not deliver that letter,"
said Clarke, jumping up in his excitement. "I never thought
of that. Good Heaven! What could she have thought of
me? She would think I had gone away without a word. If
she knew I really loved her she could not think so terribly
of me."

"There is more to be explained, but I am satisfied with your
side of it," said Col. Zane. "Now I'll go to Sam and see
what has become of that letter. I am glad I am justified in
thinking of you as I hare. I imagine this thing has hurt you

Betty Zane 177

and I don't wonder at it. Maybe we can untangle the prob
lem yet. My advice would be — but never mind that now.
Anyway, I'm your friend in this matter. I'll let you know
the result of my talk with Sam."

"I thought that young fellow was a gentleman," mused
Col. Zane as he crossed the green square and started up the
hill toward the cabins. He found the old negro seated on his
doorstep.

"Sam, what did you do with a letter Mr. Clarke gave you
last October and instructed you to delrior to Betty?"

"I dun recollec' no lettah, sah," replied Sam.

"Now, Sam, don't lie about it. Clarke has just told me
that he gave you the letter. What did you do with it ?"

"Massa Zane, I ain dun seen no lettah," answered the old
'darkey, taking a dingy pipe from his mouth and rolling his
eyes at his master.

"If you lie again I will punish you," said Col. Zane sternly.
"You are getting old, Sam, and I would not like to whip
you, but I will if you do not find that letter."

Sam grumbled, and shuffled inside the cabin. Col. Zane
heard him rummaging around. Presently he came back to the
'door and handed a very badly soiled paper to the Colonel.

"What possessed you to do chis, Sam? You have always
been honest. Your act has caused great misunderstanding
and it might have led to worse."

"He's one of dem no good Southern white trash ; he's good
fer nut tin'," said Sam. "I saw yo' sistah, Mis' Betty, wif
him, and I seen she was gittin' fond of him, and I says I ain't
gwinter have Mis' Betty runnin' off wif him. And I'se never
gibbin de lettah to her."

That was all the explanation Sam would vouchsafe, and
Col. Zane, knowing it would be useless to say more to the well-
meaning but ignorant and superstitious old negro, turned and
wended his way back to the house. He looked at the paper
and saw that it was addressed to Elizabeth Zane, and that the
ink was faded until the letters were scarcely visible.

"WTiat have you there?" asked his wife, who had watched
him go up the hill to the negro's cabin. Sne breathed a sigh

178 Betty Zane

of relief when she saw that her husband's face had recovered
its usual placid expression.

"It is a little letter for that young fire-brand up stairs, and
I believe it will clear up the mystery. Clarke gave it to Sam
last fall and Sam never gave it to Betty."

"I hope with all my heart it may settle Betty. She worries
me to death with her love affairs."

Col. Zane went up stairs and found the young lady exactly
as he had left her. She gave an impatient toss of her head as
he entered.

"Well, Madam, I have here something that may excite even
your interest," he said cheerily.

"What?" asked Betty with a start. She flushed crimson
when she saw the letter and at first refused to take it from
her brother. She was at a less to understand his cheerful de
meanor. He had been anything but pleasant a few moments
since.

"Here, take it. It is a letter from Mr. Clarke which you
should have received last fall. That last morning he gave this
letter to Sam to deliver to you, and the crazy old nigger kept
it. However, it is too late to talk of that, only it does seem
a great pity. I feel sorry for both of you. Clarke never
will forgive you, even if you want him to, which I am sure
you do not. I don't know exactly what is in this letter, but I
know it will make you ashamed to think you did not trust
him."

With this parting reproof the Colonel walked out, leaving
Betty completely bewildered. The words "too late," "never
forgive," and "a great pity" rang through her head. What
did he mean? She tore the letter open with trembling hands
and holding it up to the now fast-waning light, she read?

"Dear Betty:

"If you had waited only a moment longer I know you would
not have been so angry with me. The words I wanted so
much to say choked me and I could not speak them. I love
you. I have loved you from the very first moment, that
blessed moment when I looked up over your pony's head to see

Betty Zaiie 179

the sweetest face the sun ever shone on. m be the happiest
man on earth if you will say you care a little for me and
promise to be my wife.

"It was wrong to kiss you and I beg your forgiveness,
Could you but see your face as I saw it last night in the moon
light, I would not need to plead: you would know that the
impulse which swayed me was irresistible. In that kiss I gave
you my hope, my love, my life, my all. Let it plead for me.

"I expect to return from Ft. Pitt in about six or eight
weeks, but I cannot wait until then for your answer.

"With hope I sign myself,

"Yours until death,

"ALFRED."

Betty read the letter through. The page blurred before
her eyes; a sensation of oppression and giddiness made her
reach out helplessly with both hands. Then she slipped for
ward and fell on the floor. For the first time in all her young
life Betty had fainted. Col. Zane found her lying pale and
quiet under the window.

CHAPTER IX.

YANTWAIA, or, as he was more com
monly called, Cornplanter, was origin
ally a Seneca chief, but when the five
war tribes consolidated, forming the
historical "Five Nations," he became
their leader. An old historian said of
this renowned chieftain: "Tradition
says that the blood of a famous white
man coursed through the veins of Corn-
planter. The tribe he led was origin
ally ruled by an Indian queen of singular power and
beauty. She was born to govern her people by the force of
her character. Many a great chief importuned her to become
his wife, but she preferred to cling to her power and dignity.
When this white man, then a very young man, came to the
Ohio valley the queen fell in love with him, and Cornplanter
was their son."

Cornplanter lived to a great age. He was a wise counsellor,
a great leader, and he died when he was one hundred years old,
having had more conceded to him by the white men than any
other chieftain. General Washington wrote of him: "The
merits of Cornplanter and his friendship for the United
States are well known and shall not be forgotten."

But Cornplanter had not always been a friend to the pale
faces. During Dunmore's war and for years after, he was
one of the most vindictive of the savage leaders against the
invading pioneers.

It was during this period of Cornplanter's activity against
the whites that Isaac Zane had the misfortune to fall into the
great chief's power.

We remember Isaac last when, lost in the woods, weak from
hunger and exposure, he had crawled into a thicket and had
gone to sleep. He was awakened by a drg licking his face.
He heard Indian voices. He got up and ran as fast as he

could, but exhausted as he was be proved no match for his

is)

182 Betty Zane

pursuers. They came up with him and seeing that he was
unable to defend himself they grasped him by the arms and
led him down a well-worn bridle-path.

"D n poor run. No good legs," said one of his captors,

and at this the other two Indians laughed. Then they
whooped and yelled, at which signal other Indians joined
them. Isaac saw that they were leading him into a large
encampment. He asked the big savage who led him what
camp it was, and learned that he had fallen into the liands of
Cornplanter.

While being marched through the large Indian village
Isaac saw unmistakable indications of war. There was a busy
hum on all sides ; the squaws were preparing large quantities
of buffalo meat, cutting it in long, thin strips, and we>e parch
ing corn in stone vessels. The braves were cleaning rifles,
sharpening tomahawks, and mixing war paints. All these
things Isaac knew to be preparations for long marches and
for battle. That night he heard speech after speech in the
lodge next to the one in which he lay, but they were in an un
known tongue. Later he heard the yelling of the Indians
and the dull thud of their feet as they stamped on the ground.
He heard the ring of the tomahawks as they were struck into
hard wood. The Indians were dancing the war-dance round
the war-post. This continued with some little intermission all
the four days that Isaac lay in the lodge rapidly recovering
his strength. The fifth day a man came into the lodge. He
was tall and powerful, his fair fell over his shoulders and he
wore the scanty buckskin dress of the Indian. But Isaac
knew at once he was a white man, perhaps one of the many
French traders who passed through the Indian village.

"Your name is Zane," said the man in English, looking
sharply at Isaac.

"That is my name. Who are you?" asked Isaac in great
surprise.

"I am Girty. I've never seen you, but I knew Col. Zane
and Jonathan well. I've seen your sister; you all favor one
another."

"Are you Simon Girty?"

Betty 2ane

"Yes."

"I have heard of your influence with the Indians. Can you
do anything to get me out of this?"

"How did you happen to git over here? You are not
many miles from Wingenund's Camp," said Girty, giving
Isaac another sharp look from his small black eyes.

"Girty, I assure you I am not a spy. I escaped from the
Wyandot village on Mad River and after traveling three days
lost my way. I went to sleep in a thicket and when I awoke
an Indian dog had found me. I heard voices and saw three
Indians. I got up and ran, but they easily caught me."

"I know about you. Old Tarhe has a daughter who kept
you from bein' ransomed."

"Yes, and I wish I were back there. I don't like the look
of things."

"You are right, Zane. You got ketched at a bad time.
The Indians are mad. I suppose you don't know that Col.
Crawford massacred a lot of Indians a few days ago. It'll
go hard with any white man that gits captured. I'm afraid
I can't do nothin' for you."

A few words concerning Simon Girty, the White Savage.
He had two brothers, James and George, who had been des
peradoes before they were adopted by the Delawares, and who
eventually became fierce and relentless savages. Simon had
been captured at the same time as his brothers, but he did not
at once fall under the influence of the unsettled, free-and-easy
life of the Indians. It is probable that while in captivity he
acquired the power of commanding the Indians' interest and
learned the secret of ruling them — two capabilities few white
men ever possessed. It is certain that he, like the noted
French-Canadian Joucaire, delighted to sit round the camp
fires and to go into the council-lodge and talk to the assembled
Indians.

At the outbreak of the revolution Girty was a commissioned
officer of militia at Ft. Pitt. He deserted from the Fort, tak
ing with him the Tories McKee and Elliott, and twelve sol
diers, and these traitors spread as much terror among the
Delaware Indians as they did among the whites. The Dela-

184 Betty Zane

wares had been one of the few peacefully disposed tribes. In
order to get them to join their forces with Governor Hamil
ton, the British commander, Girty declared that Gen. Wash
ington had been killed, that Congress had been dispersed, and
that the British were winning all the battles.

Girty spoke most of the Indian languages, and Hamilton
employed him to go among the different Indian tribes and in-
,cite them to greater hatred of the pioneers. This proved to
be just the life that suited him. He soon rose to have a great
and bad influence on all the tribes. He became noted for his
assisting the Indians in marauds, for his midnight forays, for
his scalpings, and his efforts to capture white women, and for
his devilish cunning and cruelty.

For many years Girty was the Deathshead of the frontier.
The mention of his name alone created terror in any house
hold ; in every pioneer's cabin it made the children cry out in
fear and paled the cheeks of the stoutest-hearted wife.

It is difficult to conceive of a white man's being such a fiend
in human guise. The only explanation that can be given is
that renegades rage against the cause of their own blood with
the fury of insanity rather than with the malignity of a nat
urally ferocious temper. In justice to Simon Girty it must
be said that facts not known until his death showed he was
not so cruel and base as believed ; that some deeds of kindness
were attributed to him ; that he risked his life to save Kenton
from the stake, and that many of the terrible crimes laid at
his door were really committed by his savage brothers.

Isaac Zane suffered no annoyance at the hands of Corn-
planter's braves until the seventh day of his imprisonment.
He saw no one except the squaw who brought him corn and
meat. On that day two savages came for him and led him
into the immense council-lodge of the Five Nations. Corn-
planter sat between his right-hand chiefs, Big Tree and Half
Town, and surrounded by the other chiefs of the tribes. An
afred Indian stood in the center of the lodge and addressed
the others. The listening savages sat immovable, their faces
as cold and stern as stone masks. Apparently they did not
heed the entrance of the prisoner.

Betty Zane

"Zane, they're havin' a council," whispered a voice iz
Isaac's ear. Isaac turned and recognized Girty. "I want te
prepare you for the worst."

"Is there, then, no hope for me?" asked Isaac.

"I'm afraid not," continued the renegade, speaking in a
low whisper. "They wouldn't let me speak at the council. I
told Cornplanter that killin' you might bring the Hurons
down on him, but he wouldn't listen. Yesterday, in the camp
of the Delawares, I saw Col. Crawford burnt at the stake. He
was a friend of mine at Pitt, and I didn't dare to say one
word to the frenzied Indians. I had to watch the torture.
Pipe and Wingenund, both old friends of Crawford, stood by
and watched him walk round the stake on the red-hot coals
five hours."

Isaac shuddered at the words of the renegade, but did not
answer. He had felt from the first that his case was hopeless,
and that no opportunity for escape could possibly present
itself in such a large encampment. He set his teeth hard and
resolved to show the red devils how a white man could die.

Several speeches were made by different chiefs and then an
impressive oration by Big Tree. At the conclusion of the
speeches, which were in an unknown tongue to Isaac, Corn-
planter handed a war-club to Half Town. This chief got up,
walked to the end of the circle, and there brought the club
down on the ground with a resounding thud. Then he passed
the club to Big Tree. In a solemn and dignified manner everjr
chief duplicated Half Town's performance with the club.

Isaac watched the ceremony as if fascinated. He had seen
a war-club used in the councils of the Hurons and knew that
striking it on the ground signified war and death.

"White man, you are a killer of Indians," said Cornplanter
in good English. "When the sun shines again you die."

A brave came forward and painted Isaac's face black. This
Isaac knew to indicate that death awaited him on the morrow.
On his way back to his prison-lodge he saw that a war-dance
was in progress.

A hundred braves with tomahawks, knives, and mallets in
their hands were circling round a post and keeping time to the

186 Betty Zane

low music of a muffled drum. Close together, with heads
bowed, they marched. At certain moments, which they led
up to with a dancing on rigid legs and a stamping with their
feet, they wheeled, and uttering hideous yells, started to march
in the ether direction. When this had been repeated three
times a brave stepped from the line, advanced, and struck his
knife or tomahawk into the post. Then with a loud voice he
proclaimed his past exploits and great deeds in war. The
Dther Indians greeted this with loud yells of applause and a
flourishing of weapons. Then the whole ceremony was gone
through again.

That afternoon many of the Indians visited Isaac in his
lodge and shook their fists at him and pointed their knives at
him. They hissed and groaned at him. Their vindictive
faces expressed the malignant joy they felt at the expectation
of putting him to the torture.

When night came Isaac's guards laced up the lodge-door
and shut him from the sight of the maddened Indians. The
'darkness that gradually enveloped him was a relief. By and
by all was silent except for the occasional yell of a drunken
savage. To Isaac it sounded like a long, rolling death-cry
echoing throughout the encampment and murdering his sleep.
Its horrible meaning made him shiver and his flesh creep. At
length even that yell ceased. The watch-dogs quieted down
and the perfect stillness which ensued could almost be felt.
Through Isaac's mind ran over and over again the same words.
His last night to live! His last night to live! He forced
himself to think of other things. He lay there in the darkness
of his tent, but he was far away in thought, far away in the
past with his mother and brothers before they had come to
this bloodthirsty country. His thoughts wandered to the
days of his boyhood when he used to drive the cows to the
pasture on the hillside, and in his dreamy, disordered fancy
he was once more letting down the bars of the gate. Then
he was wading in the brook and whacking the green frogs with
his stick. Old playmates' faces, forgotten for years, were
there looking at him from the dark wall of his wigwam.
There was Andrew's face ; the faces of his other brothers ; the

Betty Zane 187

laughing face of his sister; the serene face of his mother.
As he lay there with the shadow of death over him sweet was
the thought that soon he would be reunited with that mother.
The images faded slowly away, swallowed up in the gloom.
Suddenly a vision appeared to him. A radiant white light
illumined the lodge -and shone full on the beautiful face of the
Indian maiden who had loved him so well. Myeerah's dark
eyes were bright with an undying love and her lips smiled
hope.

A rude kick dispelled Isaac's dreams. A brawny savage
pulled him to his feet and pushed him outside of the lodge.

It was early morning. The sun had just cleared the low
hills in the east and its red beams crimsoned the edges of the
clouds of fog which hung over the river like a great white
curtain. Though the air was warni, Isaac shivered a little as
the breeze blew softly against his cheek. He took one long
look toward the rising sun, toward that east he had hoped to
see, and then resolutely turned his face away forever.

Early though it was the Indians were astir and their whoop
ing rang throughout the valley. Down tha main street of the
village the guards led the prisoner, followed by a screaming
mob of squaws and young braves and children who threw
sticks and stones at the hated Long Knife.

Soon the inhabitants of the camp congregated on the green
oval in the midst of the lodges. When the prisoner appeared
they formed in two long lines facing each other, and several
feet apart. Isaac was to run the gauntlet — one of the se*
verest of Indian tortures. With tht exception of Corrplantef
and several of h s chiefs, every Indian in the village was in
line. Little Indian N>ys hardly large enough to sling a stone ;
maidens and squaws with switches or spears; athletic young
braves with flashing tomahawks; grim, matured warriors
swinging knotted war clubs, — all were there in line, yelling
and brandishing their weapons in a manner frightful to
behold.

The word was given, and stripped to the waist, Isaac
bounded forward fleet as a deer. He knew the Indian way of
running the gauntlet. The head of that long lane contained

188 Betty Zan<

the warriors and older braves and it was here that the great
danger lay. Between these lines he sped like a flash, dodging
this way and that, running close in under the raised weaponsj
taking what blows he could on his uplifted arms, knocking
this warrior over and doubling that one up with a lightning
blow in the stomach, never slacking his speed for one stride,
so that it was extremely difficult for the Indians to strike him
effectually. Once past that formidable array, Isaac's gaunt
let was run, for the squaws and children scattered screaming
before the sweep of his powerful arms.

The old chiefs grunted their approval. There was a bruise
on Isaac's forehead and a few drops of blood mingled with
the beads of perspiration. Several lumps and scratches
showed on his bare1 shoulders and arms, but he had escaped any
serious injury. This was a feat almost without a parallel in
gauntlet running.

When he had been tied with wet buckskin thongs to the
post in the center of the oval, the youths, the younger braves,
and the squaws began circling round him, yelling like so many
demons. The old squaws thrust sharpened sticks, which had
been soaked in salt water, into his flesh. The maidens struck
him with willows which left red welts on his white shoulders.
The braves buried the blades of their tomahawks in the post
as near as possible to his head without actually hitting him.

Isaac knew the Indian nature well. To command the re-
npect of the savages was the only way to lessen his torture.
Me knew that a cry for mercy would only increase his suffer
ings and not hasten his death, — indeed it would prolong both.
He had resolved to die without a moan. He had determined
ti show absolute indifference to his torture, which was the
«nly way to appeal to the savage nature, and if anything
could, make the Indians show mercy. Or, if he could taunt
them into killing him at once he would be spared all the ter
rible agony which they were in the habit of inflicting on their
victims.

One handsome young brave twirled a glittering tomahawk
which he threw from a distance of ten, fifteen, and twenty
feet and every time the sharp blade of the hatchet sank deep

Betty Zane 189

into the stake within an inch of Isaac's head. With a proud
and disdainful look Isaac gazed straight before him and paid
no heed to his tormentor. .

"Does the Indian boy think he can frighten a white war
rior?" said Isaac scornfully at length. "Let him go and earn
his eagle plumes. The pale face laughs at him."

The young brave understood the Huron language, for he
gave a frightful yell and cast his tomahawk again, this time
shaving a lock of hair from Isaac's head.

This was what Isaac had prayed for. He hoped that one
of these glittering hatchets would be propelled less skilfully
than its predecessors and would kill him instantly. But the
enraged brave had no other opportunity to cast his weapon,
for the Indians jeered at him and pushed him from the line.

Other braves tried their proficiency in the art of throwing
knives and tomahawks, but their efforts called forth only
words of derision from Isaac. They left the weapons sticking
in the post until round Isaac's head and shoulders there was
scarcely room for another.

"The White Eagle is tired of boys," cried Isaac to a chief
standing near. "What has he done that he be made the play
thing of children ? Let him die the death of a chief."

The maidens had long since desisted in their efforts to tor
ment the prisoner. Even the hardened old squaws had with
drawn. The prisoner's proud, handsome face, his upright
bearing, his scorn for his enemies, his indifference to the cuts
and bruises, and red welts upon his clear white skin had wo»
their hearts.

Not so with the braves. Seeing that the pale face scorned
nil efforts to make him flinch, the young brave turned to Big
Tree. At a command from this chief the Indians stopped
their maneuvering round the post and formed a large circle.
In another moment a tall warrior appeared carrying an arm-
5ul of fagots.

In spite of his iron nerve Isaac shuddered with horror. He
had anticipated running the gauntlet, having his nails pulled
out, powder and salt shot into his flesh, being scalped alive,
and a host of other Indian tortures, but as he had killed n<r

190 Betty Zanc

members of this tribe he had not thought of being burned
ftlive. God, it was too horrible!

The Indians were now quiet. Their songs and dances
wauld break out soon enough. They piled fagot after fagot
round Isaac's feet. The Indian warrior knelt on the ground ;
the steel clicked on the flint ; a little shower of sparks dropped
on the pieces of punk and then — a tiny flame shot up, and a
clender litik column of blue smoke floated on the air.

Isaac elm! his teeth hard and prayed with all his soul for a
speedy cteaffi*

Simon Girty came hurriedly through the lines of waiting,
watching Indians. He had obtained permission to speak to
the man of his own color.

"Zar/e, you made a brave stand. Any other time but this
it might have saved you. If you want I'll get word to your
people." And then bending and placing his mouth close to
Isaac's ear, he whispered, "I did all I could for you, but K
must have been too late."

"Try and tell them at Ft. Henry," Isaac said simply.

There was a little cracking of dried wood and then a nar
row tongue of red flame darted up from the pile of fagots and
licked at the buckskin fringe on the prisoner's leggins. At
this supreme moment when the attention of all centered on
that motionless figure lashed to the stake, and when only the
low chanting of the death-song broke the stillness, a longj
piercing yell rang out on the quiet morning air. So strong^
so sudden, so startling was the break in that almost perfect
calm that for a moment afterward there was a silence as of
death. All eyes turned to the ridge of rising ground whence
that sound had come. Now came the unmistakable thunder of
horses5 hoofs pounding furiously on the rocky ground. A
moment of paralyzed inaction ensued. The Indians stood
bewildered, petrified. Then on that ridge of rising ground
stood, silhouetted against the blue sky, a great black horse
with arching neck and flying mane. Astride him sat a
plumed warrior, who waved his rifle high in the air. Again
that shrill screeching yell came floating to the ears of the
astonished Indians.

Betty Zane 191

The prisoner had seen that horse and rider before; he had
heard that long yell; his heart bounded with hope. The
Indians knew that yell; it was the terrible war-cry of the
Hurons.

A horse followed closely after the leader, and then another
appeared on the crest of the hill. Then came two abreast,
and then four abreast, and now the hill was black with plung
ing horses. They galloped swiftly down the slope and into
the narrow street of the village. When the black horse en
tered the oval the train of racing horses extended to the top
of the ridge. The plumes of the riders streamed gracefully
on the breeze ; their feathers shone ; their weapons glittered in
the bright sunlight.

Never was there more complete surprise. In the early
morning the Hurons had crept up to within a rifle shot of the
encampment, and at an opportune moment when all the scouts
and runners were round the torture-stake, they had reached
the hillside from which they rode into the village before the
inhabitants knew what had happened. Not an Indian raised
a weapon. There were screams from the women and children,
a shouted command from Big Tree, and then all stood still
and waited.

Thundercloud, the war chief of the Wyandots, pulled his
black stallion back on his haunches not twenty feet from the
prisoner at the stake. His band of painted devils closed in
behind him. Full two hundred strong were they and all
picked warriors tried and true. They were naked to the
waist. Across their brawny chests ran a broad bar of flaming
red paint; hideous designs in black and white covered their
faces. Every head had been clean-shaven except where the
ecalp lock bristled like a porcupine's quills. Each warrior
carried a plumed spear, a tomahawk, and a rifle. The shin
ing heads, with the little tufts of hair tied tightly close to the
scalp, were enough to show that these Indians were on the
war-path.

From the back of one of the foremost horses a slender figure
dropped and darted toward the prisoner at the stake. Surely
that wildly flying hair proved this was not a warrior. Swift

Betty Zane

as a flash of light this figure reached the stake; the blazing
fagots scattered right and left; a naked blade gleamed; the
thongs fell from the prisoner's wrists ; and the front ranks of
the Hurons opened and closed on the freed man. The deliv
erer turned to the gaping Indians, disclosing to their gaze the
pale and beautiful face of Myeerah, the Wyandot Princess.

"Summon your chief," she commanded.

The tall form of the Seneca chief moved from among the
warriors and with slow and measured tread approached the
maiden. His bearing fitted the leader of five nations of In
dians. It was of one who knew that he was the wisest of
chiefs, the hero of a hundred battles. Who dared beard him
in his den? Who dared defy the greatest power in all Indian
tribes? When he stood before the maiden he folded his arms
and waited for her to speak.

"Myeerah claims the White Eagle," sjie said.

Cornplanter did not answer at once. He had never seen
Myeerah, though he had heard many stories of her loveliness.
Now he was face to face with the Indian Princess whose fame
had been the theme of many an Indian romance, and whose
beauty had been sung of in many an Indian son^. The beau
tiful girl stood erect and fearless. Her disordered garments,
torn and bedraggled and stained from the long ride, ill-con
cealed the grace of her form. Her hair rippled from the un-
covered head and fell in dusky splendor over her shoul
ders; her dark eyes shone with a stern and steady fire; her
bosom swelled with each deep breath. She was the daughter
of great chiefs; she looked the embodiment of savage love.

"The Huron squaw is brave," said Cornplanter. "By what
right does she come to free my captive?"

"He is^an adopted Wyandot."

"Why does the paleface hide like a fox near the camp of
Cornplanter ?"

"He ran away. He lost the trail to the Fort on the river."

"Cornplanter takes prisoners to kill; not to free."

"If you will not give him up Myeerah will take him," she
answered, pointing to the long line of mounted warriors.
"And should harm befall Tarhe's daughter it will be avenged."

ISAAC GAZED STRAIGHT BEFORE HIM AND PAID NO HEED TO

HIS TORMENTOR. Page 189.

Betty Zane 193

Cornplanter looked at Thundercloud. Well he knew that
chief's prowess in the field. He ran his eyes over the silent,
watching Hurons, and then back to the sombre face of their
leader. Thundercloud sat rigid upon his stallion; his head
held high; every muscle tense and strong for instant action.
He was ready and eager for the fray. He, and every one of
his warriors, would fight like a thousand tigers for their Prin
cess — the pride of the proud race of Wyandots. Cornplanter
saw this and he felt that on the eve of important marches he
dared not sacrifice one of his braves for any reason, much less
a worthless pale face; and yet to let the prisoner go galled
the haughty spirit of the Seneca chief.

"The Long Knife is not worth the life of one of my dogs,"
he said, with scorn in his deep voice. "If Cornplanter willed
he could drive the Hurons before him like leaves before the
storm. Let Myeerah take the pale face back to her wigwam
and there feed him and make a squaw of him. When he
stings like a snake in the grass remember the chief's words.
Cornplanter turns on his heel from the Huron maiden who
forgets her blood.

"

When the sun reached its zenith it shone down upon a long
line of mounted Indians riding single file along the narrow
trail and like a huge serpent winding through the forest and
over the plain.

They were Wyandot Indians, and Isaac Zane rode among
them. Freed from the terrible fate which had menaced him,
and knowing that he was once more on his way to the Huron
encampment, he had accepted his destiny and quarreled no
more ^ith fate. He was thankful beyond all words for his
rescue from the stake. %

Coming to a clear, rapid stream, the warriors dismounted
and rested while their horses drank thirstily of the cool water.
An Indian touched Isaac on the arm and silently pointed
toward the huge maple tree under which Thundercloud and
Myeerah were sitting. Isaac turned his horse and rode the
short distance intervening. When he got near he saw that
Myeerah stood with one arm over her pony's neck. She raised

194 Betty Zane

eyes that were weary and sad, which yet held a lofty and
noble resolve.

"White Eagle, this stream leads straight to the Fort on the
river," she said briefly, almost coldly. "Follow it, and when
the sun reaches the top of yonder hill you will be with your
people. Go, you are free."

She turned her face away. Isaac's head whirled in his
• amazement. He could not believe his ears. He looked closely
'at her and saw that though her face was calm her throat
swelled, and the hand which lay over the neck of her pony
clenched the bridle in a fierce grasp. Isaac glanced at Thun
dercloud and the other Indians near by.« They sat uncon
cerned with the invariable unreadable expression.

"Myeerah, what do you mean?" asked Isaac.

"The words of Cornplanter cut deep into the heart of
Myeerah," she answered bitterly. "They were true. The
Eagle does not care for Myeerah. She shall no longer keep
him in a cage. He is free to fly away."

"The Eagle does not want his freedom. I love you,
Myeerah. You have saved me and I am yours. If you will
go home with me and marry me there as my people are mar
ried I will go back to the Wyandot village."

Myeerah's eyes softened with unutterable love. With a
quick cry she was in his arms. After a few moments of for-
getfulness Myeerah spoke to Thundercloud and waved her
hand toward the west. The chief swung himself over his
horse, shouted a single command, and rode down the bank into
the water. His warriors followed him, wading their horses
into the shallow creek, with never a backward look. When
the last rider had disappeared in the willows the lovers turned
their horses eastward.

CHAPTER X.

T was near the close of a day in early
summer. A small group of persons
surrounded Col. Zane where he sat on
his doorstep. From time to time he
took the long Indian pipe from his
mouth and blew great clouds of smoke
over his head. Major McColloch and
Capt. Boggs were there. Silas Zane
half reclined on the grass. The Col
onel's wife stood in the door-way, and
Betty sat on the lower step with her

head leaning against her brother's knee. They all had grave
faces. Jonathan Zane had returned that day after an ab
sence of three weeks, and was now answering the many ques
tions with which he was plied.

"Don't ask me any more and I'll tell you the whole thing,**
he had just said, while wiping the perspiration from his brow.
His face was worn; his beard ragged and unkempt; his ap
pearance suggestive of extreme fatigue. "It was this way:
Colonel Crawford had four hundred and eighty men under
him, with Stover and me acting as guides. This was a large
force of men and comprised soldiers from Pitt and the other
forts and settlers from all along the river. You see, Craw
ford wanted to crush the Shawnees at one blow. When we
reached the Sandusky River, which we did after an arduous
march, not one Indian did we see. You know Crawford ex
pected to surprise the Shawnee camp, and when he found it
deserted he didn't know what to do. Slover and I both ad
vised an immediate retreat. Crawford would not listen to us.
I tried to explain to him that ever since the Guadenhutten
massacre keen-eyed Indian scouts had been watching the bor
der. The news of the present expedition had been carried by
fleet runners to the different Indian tribes and they were work
ing like hives of angry bees. The deserted Shawnee village
meant to me that the alarm had been sounded "/» the towns

191

196 Betty Zane

of the Shawnees and the Delawares ; perhaps also in the Wy-
andot towns to the north. Colonel Crawford was obdurate
and insisted on resuming the march into the Indian country.
The next day we met the Indians coming directly toward us.
It was the combined force of the Delaware chiefs, Pipe and
Wingenund. The battle had hardly commenced when the
redskins were reinforced by four hundred warriors under
Shanshota, the Hiiron chief. The enemy skulked behind trees
and rocks, hid in ravines, and crawled through the long grass.
They could be picked off only by Indian hunters, of whom
Crawford had but few — probably fifty all told. All that day
we managed to keep our position, though we lost sixty men.
That night we lay down to rest by great fires which we built,
to prevent night surprises.

"Early next morning we resumed the fight. I saw Simon
Girty on his white horse. He was urging and cheering the
Indians on to desperate fighting. Their fire became so deadly
that we were forced to retreat. In the afternoon Slover, who
had been out scouting, returned with the information that a
mounted force was approaching, and that he believed they
were the reinforcements which Col. Crawford expected. The
reinforcements came up and proved to be Butler's British
Rangers from Detroit. This stunned Crawford's soldiers.
The fire of the enemy became hotter and hotter. Our men
were falling like leaves around us. They threw aside their
rifles and ran, many of them right into the hands of the sav
ages. I believe some of the experienced bordermen escaped,
but most of Crawford's force met death on the field. I hid
in a hollow log. Next day when I felt that it could be done
safely I crawled out. I saw scalped and mutilated bodies
everywhere, but did not find Col. Crawford's body. The In
dians had taken all the clothing, weapons, blankets, and every
thing of value. The Wyandots took a northwest trail and
the Delawares and the Shawnees traveled east. I followed the
latter because their trail led toward home. Three days later I
stood on the high bluff above Wingenund's camp. From
there I saw Col. Crawford tied to a stake and a fire started
at his feet. I was not five hundred yards from the camp. I

Betty Zane 197

saw the war chiefs, Pipe and Wingeimnd ; I saw Simon Girty
and a British officer in uniform. The chiefs and Girty were
once Crawford's friends. They stood calmly by and watched
the poor victim slowly burn to death. The Indians yelled and
danced round the stake ; they devised every kind of hellish tor
ture. When at last an Indian ran in and tore off the scalp
of the still living man I could bear to see no more, and I turned
and ran. I have been in some tough places, but this last was
the worst."

"My God! it is awful — and to think that man Girty was
once a white man," cried Col. Zane.

"He came very near being a dead man," said Jonathan,
with grim humor. "I got a long shot at him and killed his
big white horse."

"It's a pity you missed him," said Silas Zane.

"Here comes Wetzel. What will he say about the mas
sacre?" remarked Major McColloch.

Wetzel joined the group at that moment and shook hands
with Jonathan. When interrogated about the failure of Col.
Crawford's expedition Wetzel said that Slover had just made
his appearance at the cabin of Hugh Bennet, and that he
was without clothing and almost dead from exposure.

"I'm glad Slover got out alive. He was against the march
all along. If Crawford had listened to us he would have
averted this terrible affair and saved his own life. Lew, did
Slover know how many men got out?" asked Jonathan.

"He said not many. The redskins killed all the prisoners
exceptin' Crawford and Knight."

"I saw Col. Crawford burned at the stake. I did not see
Dr. Knight. Maybe they murdered him before I reached the
camp of the Delawares," said Jonathan.

"Wetzel, in your judgment, what effect will this massacre
and Crawford's death have on the border?" inquired Col.
Zane.

"It means another bloody year like 1777." answered Wetzel.

"We are liable to have trouble with the Indians any day.
You mean that,"

There'll be war all along the river. Hamilton is hatchin*

198 Betty Zane

some new devil's trick with Girty. Col. Zane, I calkilate that
Girty has a spy in the river settlements and knows as much
about the forts and defense as you do."

"You can't mean a white spy."

"Yes, just that."

"That is a strong assertion, Lewis, but coming from you
it means something. Step aside here and explain yourself,"
said Col. Zane, getting up and walking out to the fence.

"I don't like the looks of things," said the hunter. "A
month ago I ketched this man Miller pokin' his nose round the
block-house where he hadn't ought to be. And I kep' watchin'
him. If my suspicions is correct he's play in' some deep game.
I ain't got any proof, but things looks bad."

"That's strange, Lewis," said Col. Zane soberly. "Now
that you mention it I remember Jonathan said he met Miller
near the Kanawha three weeks ago. That was when Craw
ford's expedition was on the way to the Shawnee villages.
The Colonel tried to enlist Miller, but Miller said he was in a
hurry to get back to the Fort. And he hasn't come back

yet."

"I ain't surprised. Now, Col. Zane, you are in command
here. I'm not a soldier and for that reason I'm all the better
to watch Miller. He won't suspect me. You give me au
thority and I'll round up his little game."

"By all means, Lewis. Go about it your own way, and
report anything to me. Remember you may be mistaken and
give Miller the benefit of the doubt. I don't like the fellow.
He has a way of appearing and disappearing, and for no ap
parent reason, that makes me distrust him. But for Heaven's
sake, Lew, how would he profit by betraying us?"

"I don't know. All I know is he'll bear watchin'."

"My gracious, Lew Wetzel!" exclaimed Betty as her
brother and the hunter rejoined the others. "Have you come
all the way over here without a gun? And you have on a new
suit of buckskin."

Lewis stood a moment by Betty, gazing down at her with
his slight smile. He looked exceedingly well. His face was.
not yet bronzed by summer suns. His long black hair, of

Betty Zane 199

which he was as proud as a woman could have been, and of
which he took as much care as he did of his rifle, waved over
his shoulders.

"Betty, this is my birthday, but that ain't the reason I've
got my fine feathers on. I'm goin' to try and make an im
pression on you," replied Lewis, smiling.

"I declare, this is very sudden. But you have succeeded.
Who made the suit? And where did you get all that pretty
fringe and those beautiful beads?"

"That stuff I picked up round an Injun camp. The suit
I made myself."

"I think, Lewis, I must get you to help me make my new
gown," said Betty, roguishly.

"Well, I must be gettin' back," said Wetzel, rising.

"Oh, don't go yet. You have not talked to me at all," said
Betty petulantly. She walked to the gate with him.

"What can an Injun hunter say to amuse the belle of the
border?"

"I don't want to be amused exactly. I mean I'm not used
to being unnoticed, especially by you." And then in a lower
tone she continued: "What did you mean about Mr. Miller?
I heard his name and Eb looked worried. What did you tell
him?"

"Never mind now, Betty. Maybe I'll tell you some day.
It's enough for you to know the Colonel don't like Miller and
that I think he is a bad man. You don't care nothin' for
Miller, do you Betty?"

"Not in~the least."

"Don't see him any more, Betty. Good-night, now, I must
be goin' to supper."

"Lew, stop ! or I shall run after you."

"And what good would your runnin' do?" said Lewis.
"You'd never ketch me. Why, I could give you twenty paces
start and beat you to yon tree."

"You can't. Come, try it," retorted Betty, catching hold
of her skirt. She could never have allowed a challenge like
that to pass.

"Ha ! ha ! We are in for a race. Betty, if you beat him,

200 Betty Zane

start or no start, you will have accomplished something never
done before," said CoL Zane.

"Come, Silas, step off twenty paces and make them long
ones," said Betty, who was in earnest.

"We'll make it forty paces," said Silas, as he commenced
taking immense strides.

"What is Lewis looking at?" remarked Col. Zane's wife.

Wetzel, in taking his position for the race, had faced the
i'iver. Mrs. Zane had seen him start suddenly, straighten up
and for a moment stand like a statue. Her exclamation drew
the attentior of the others to the hunter.

"Look !" he cried, waving his hand toward the river.

"I declare, Wetzel, you are always seeing something.
Where shall I look? Ah, yes, there is a dark form moving
along the bank. By jove! I believe it's an Indian," said
Col. Zane.

Jonathan darted into the house. WTien he reappeared a
second later he had three rifles.

"I see horses, Lew. What do you make out?" said Jona
than. "It's a bold manoeuvre for Indians unless they have a
strong force."

"Hostile Injuns wouldn't show themselves like that. Maybe
they ain't redskins at all. We'll go down to the bluff."

"Oh, yes, let us go," cried Betty, walking down the path
toward Wetzel.

Col. Zane followed her, and presently the whole party were
on their way to the river. When they reached the bluff they
saw two horses come down the opposite bank and enter the
water. Then they seemed to fade from view. The tall trees
cast a dark shadow over the water and the horses had become
lost in this obscurity. Col. Zane and Jonathan walked up
and down the bank seeking to find a place which afforded a
clearer view of the river.

"There they come," shouted Silas.

"Yes, I see them just swimming out of the shadow," said
Col. Zane. "Both horses have riders. Lewis, what can you
make out ?"

"It's Isaac and an Indian girl," answered Wetzel.

Betty Zane 201

This startling announcement created a commotion in the
little group. It was followed by a chorus of exclamations.

"Heavens! Wetzel, you have wonderful eyes. I hope to
God you are right. There, I see the foremost rider waving
his hand," cried Col. Zane.

"Oh, Bessie, Bessie! I believe Lew is right. Look at
Tige," said Betty excitedly.

Everybody had forgotten the dog. He had come down the
path with Betty and had pressed close to her. First he
trembled, then whined, then with a loud bark he ran down
the bank and dashed into the water.

"Hel-lo, Betts," came the cry across the water. There was
no mistaking that clear voice. It was Isaac's.

Although the sun had long gone down behind the hills day~
light lingered. It was bright enough for the watchers to rec*
ognize Isaac Zane. He sat high on his horse and in his hand
he held the bridle of a pony that was swimming beside him,
The pony bore the slender figure of a girl. She was
bending forward and her hands were twisted in the pony's
mane.

By this time the Colonel and Jonathan were standing in
the shallow water waiting to grasp the reins and lead the
horses up the steep bank. Attracted by the unusual sight of
a wildly gesticulating group on the river bluff, the settler?
from the Fort hunv"J down to the scene of action. Capt,
Boggs and Alfred Cl{>rke joined the crowd. Old Sam came
running down from the barn. All were intensely excited as
Col. Zane and Jonathan reached for the bridles and led the
horses up the slippery incline.

"Eb, Jack, Silas, here I am alive and well," cried Isaac as
he leaped from his horse. "Betty, you darling, it's Isaac.
Don't stand staring as if I were a ghost."

Whereupon Betty ran to him, flung her arms around his
neck and clung to him. Isaac kissed her tenderly and dis
engaged himself from her arms.

"You'll get all wet. Glad to see me? Well, I never had
such a happy moment in my life. Betty, I have brought you
some one whom you must love. This is Myeerah, your sister,

202 Betty Zane

She is wet and cold. Take her home and make her warm and
comfortable. You must forget all the past, for Myeerah has
saved me from the stake."

Betty had forgotten the other. At her brother's words she
turned and saw a slender form. Even the wet, mud-stained
and ragged Indian costume failed to hide the grace of that
figure. She saw a beautiful face, as white as her own, and
dark eyes full of unshed tears.

"The Eagle is free," said the Indian girl in her low, mu
sical voice.

"You have brought him home to us. Come," said Betty,
taking the hand of the trembling maiden.

The settlers crowded round Isaac and greeted him warmly,
while they plied him with innumerable questions. Was he
free? Who was the Indian girl? Had he run off with her?
Were the Indians preparing for war?

On the way to the Colonel's house Isaac told briefly of his
escape from the Wyandots, of his capture by Cornplanter,
and of his rescue. He also mentioned the preparations for
war he had seen in Cornplanter's camp, and Girty's story of
Col. Crawford's death.

"How does it come that you have the Indian girl with you?"
asked Col. Zane as they left the curious settlers and entered
the house.

"I am going to marry Myeerah and I brought her with me
for that purpose. When we are married I will go back to the
Wyandots and live with them until peace is declared."

"Humph! Will it be declared?"

"Myeerah has promised it, and I believe she can bring it
about, especially if I marry her. Peace with the Hurons may
help to bring about peace with the Shawnees. I shall never
cease to work for that end; but even if peace cannot be se-
turcd, my duty still is to Myeerah. She saved me from a
most horrible death."

"If your marriage with this Indian girl will secure the
friendly offices of that grim old warrior Tarhe, it is far more
than fighting will ever do. I do not want you to go back.
Would we ever see you again?"

Betty Zane 203

"Oh, yes, often I hope. You see, If I marry Myeerah the
Hurons will allow me every liberty."

"Well, that puts a different light on the subject.'*

"Oh, how I wish you and Jonathan could have seen Thun
dercloud and his two hundred warriors ride into Cornplanter's
camp. It was magnificent! The braves were all crowded
near the stake where I was bound. The fire had bean lighted.
Suddenly the silence was shattered by an awful yell. It was
Thundercloud's yell. I knew it because I had heard it before,
and anyone who had once heard that yell could never forget it.
In what seemed an incredibly short time Thundercloud's war
riors were lined up in the middle of the camp. The surprise
was so complete that, had it been necessary, they could have
ridden Cornplanter's braves down, killed many, routed the
others, and burned the village. Cornplanter will not get over
that surprise in many a moon."

Betty had always hated the very mention of the Indian girl
who had been the cause of her brother's long absence from
home. But she was so happy in the knowledge of his return
that she felt that it was in her power to forgive much ; more
over, the white, weary face of the Indian maiden touched
Betty's warm heart. With her quick intuition she had divined
that this was even a greater trial for Myeerah. Undoubtedly
the Indian girl feared the scorn of her lover's people. She
showed it in her trembling hands, in her fearful glances.

Finding that Myeerah could speak and understand English
Betty became more interested in her charge every moment.
She set about to make Myeerah comfortable, and while she re»
moved the wet and stained garments she talked all the time.
She told her how happy she was that Isaac was alive and well.
She said Myeerah's heroism in saving him should atone for al?
the past, and that Isaac's family would welcome her in his
liome.

Gradually Myeerah's agitation subsided under Betty's
sweet graciousness, and by the time Betty had dressed her in
a white gown, had brushed the dark hair and added a bright
ribbon to the simple toilet, Myeerah had so far forgotten her
fears as tc take a shy pleasure in the picture of herself in the

804 Betty Zane

mirror. As for Betty, she gave vent to a little cry of delight.

"Oh, you are perfectly lovely," cried Betty. "In that
gown no one would know you as a Wyandot princess."

"Myeerah's mother was a white woman."

"I have heard your story, Myeerah, and it is wonderful.
"Y )u must tell me all about your life with the Indians. You
speak my language almost as well as I do. Who taught you ??>

"Myeerah learned to talk with the White Eagle. She can
speak French with the Coureurs-des-bois."

"That's more than I can do, Myeerah. And I had a
French teacher," said Betty, laughing.

"Hello, up there," came Isaac's voice from below.

"Come up, Isaac," called Betty.

"Is this my Indian sweetheart?" exclaimed Isaac, stopping
at the door. "Betty, isn't she "

"Yes," answered Betty, "she is simply beautiful."

"Come, Myeerah, we must go down to supper," said Isaac,
taking her in his arms and kissing her. "Now you must not
be afraid, nor mind being looked at."

"Everyone will be kind to you," said Betty, taking her
hand. Myeerah had slipped from Isaac's arm and hesitated
and hung back. "Come," continued Betty, "I will stay with
you, and you need not talk if you do not wish."

Thus reassured Myeerah allowed Betty to lead her down
stairs. Isaac had gone ahead and was waiting at the door.

The big room was brilliantly lighted with pine knots. Mrs.
Zane was arranging the dishes on the table. Old Sam and
Annie were hurrying to and fro from the kitchen. Col. Zane
had just come up the cellar stairs carrying a mouldy looking
cask. From its appearance it might have been a powder keg,
but the merry twinkle in the Colonel's eyes showed that the
cask contained something as precious, perhaps, as powder, but
not quite so dangerous. It was a cask of wine over thirty
years old. With Col. Zane's other effects it had stood the test
of the long wagon-train journey over the Virginia moun*
tains, and of the raft-ride down the Ohio. Col. Zane thought
the feast he had arranged for Isaac would be a fitting1
«ion for the breaking of .the cask.

Betty Zane 205

Major McCullough, Capt. Boggs and Hugh Bennet had
been invited. Wetzel had been persuaded to come. Betty's
friends Lydia and Alice were there.

As Isaac, with an air of pride, led the two girls into the
room Old Sam saw them and he exclaimed, "For de Lawd's
sakes, Marsh Zane, dar's two pippins, sure can't tell 'em from
one anudder."

Betty and Myeerah did resemble each other. They were
of about the same size, tall and slender. Betty was rosy,
bright-eyed and smiling; Myeerah was pale one moment and
red the next.

"Friends, this is Myeerah, the daughter of Tarhe," said
Isaac simply. "We are to be married to-morrow."

"Oh, why did you not tell me?" asked Betty in great sur
prise. "She said nothing about it."

"You see Myeerah has that most excellent trait in a woman
— knowing when to keep silent," answered Isaac with a smile.

The door opened at this moment, admitting Will Martin
and Alfred Clarke.

"Everybody is here now, Bessie, and I guess we may as
well sit down to supper," said Col. Zane. "And, good friends,
let me say that this is an occasion for rejoicing. It is not so
much a marriage that I mean. That we might have any day
if Lydia or Betty would show some of the alacrity which got
a good husband for Alice. Isaac is a free man and we expect
his marriage will bring about peace with a powerful tribe
of Indians. Tons, and particularly to you, young people, that
is a matter of great importance. The friendship of the Hu-
rons cannot but exert an influence on other tribes. I, myselfs
may live to see the day that my dream shall be realized —
peaceful and friendly relations with the Indians, the freedom
of the soil, well-tilled farms and growing settlements, and at
last, the opening of this glorious country to the world.
Therefore, let us rejoice; let every one be happy; let your
gayest laugh ring out, and tell your best story."

Betty had blushed painfully at the entrance of Alfred and
again at the Colonel's remark. To add to her embarrassment
she found herself seated opposite Alfred at the table. This

206 Betty Z a n e

was the first time he had been near her since the Sunday at
the meeting-house, and the incident had a singular effect on
Betty. She found herself possessed, all at once, of an un
accountable shyness, and she could not lift her eyes from her
plate. But at length she managed to steal a glance at Alfred.
She failed to see any signs in his beaming face of the broken
spirit of which her brother had hinted. He looked very well,
indeed. He was eating his dinner like any other healthy
man, and talking and laughing with Lydia. This developed
another unaccountable feeling in Betty, but this time it was
resentment. Who ever heard of a man, who was as much in
love as his letter said, looking well and enjoying himself with
any other than the object of his affections? Ke had got over
it, that was all. Just then Alfred turned and gazed full into
Betty's eyes. She lowered them instantly, but not so quickly
that she failed to see in his a reproach.

"You are going to stay with us a while, are you not?" aske4
Betty of Isaac. \

"No, Betts, not more than a day or so. Now, do not look
so distressed. I do not go bacK as a prisoner. Myeerah and
I can often come and visit you. But just now I want to get
back and try to prevent the Delawares from urging Tarhe to

war."

"Isaac, I believe you are doing the wisest thing possible,'*
said Capt. Boggs. "And when I look at your bride-
to-be I confess I do not see how you remained single so
long."

"That's so, Captain," answered Isaac. "But you see, I
have never been satisfied or contented in captivity^ J wanted
nothing but to be free.'*

"In other words, you were blind," remarked Alfred, smiling
at Isaac.

"Yes, Alfred, I was. And I imagine had you been in my
pla<;e you would have discovered the beauty and virtue of my
Princess long before I did. Nevertheless, please do not favor
Myeerah with so many admiring glances. She is not used to
ii> And that reminds me that I must expect trouble tomor-
wow. All you fellows will want to kiss her."

"

Betty Zane 207

"And Betty is going to be maid of honor. She, too, will
have her troubles," remarked Col. Zane.

"Think of that, Alfred," said Isaac. "A chance to kiss
the two prettiest girls on the border — a chance of a life
time."

"It is customary, is it not?" said Alfred coolly.

"Yes, it's a custom, if you can catch the girl," answered
Zane.

Betty's face flushed at Alfred's cool assumption. How
dared he? In spite of her will she could not resist the power
that compelled her to look at him. As plainly as if it were
written there, she saw in his steady blue eyes the light of a
memory — the memory of a kiss. And Betty dropped her
head, her face burning, her heart on fire with shame, and love,
regret.

It'll be a good chance for me, too," said Wetzel. His re
mark instantly turned attention to himself.

"The idea is absurd," said Isaac. "Why, Lew Wetzel, you
could not be made to kiss any girl."

"I would not be backward about it," said Col. 2ane.

"You have forgotten the fuss you made when the boys were
kissing me," said Mrs. Zane with a fine scorn.

"My dear," said Col. Zane, in an aggrieved tone, "I did not
make so much of a fuss, as you call it, until they had kissed
you a great many times more than was reasonable."

"Isaac, tell us one thing more," said Capt. Boggs. "How
did Myeerah learn of your capture by Complanter? Surely
she could not have trailed you?"

"Will you tell us ?" said Isaac to Myeerah.

"A bird sang it to me," answered Myeerah.

"She will never tell, that is certain," said Isaac. "And for
that reason I believe Simon Girty got word to her that I was in
the hands of Complanter. At the last moment when the In
dians were lashing me to the stake Girty came to me and said
he must have been too late."

"Yes, Girty might have done that," said Col. Zane. "I
suppose, though, he dared not interfere in behalf of poor
Crawford."

208 Betty Z * n v

"Isaac, can you get Myeerah to talk? I love to hear her
speak," said Betty, in an aside.

"Myeerah, will you sing a Huron love-song?" said Isaac.
"Or, if you do not wish to sing, tell a story. I want them to
know how well you can speak our language."

"What shall Myeerah say?" she said, shyly.

"Tell them the legend of the Standing Stone."

"A beautiful Indian girl once dwelt in the pine forests,"
began Myeerah, with her eyes cast down and her hand seeking
Isaac's. "Her voice was like rippling waters, her beauty like
the rising sun. From near and from far came warriors to
see the fair face of this maiden. She smiled on them all and
they called her Smiling Moon. Now there lived on the Great
Lake a Wyandot chief. He was young and bold. No war
rior was as great as Tarhe. Smiling Moon cast a spell on
his heart. He came manv times to woo her and make her

tl

his wife. But Smiling Moon said : 'Go, do great deeds, and
come again.'

"Tarhe searched the east and the west. He brought her
strange gifts from strange lands. She said: 'Go and slay
my enemies.' Tarhe went forth in his war paint and killed
the braves who named her Smiling Moon. He came again to
her and she said: 'Run swifter than the deer, be more cun
ning than the beaver, dive deeper than the loon.*

"Tarhe passed once more to the island where dwelt Smil
ing Moon. The ice was thick, the snow was deep. Smilingr
Moon turned not from her warm fire as she said: 'The chief
is a great warrior, but Smiling Moon is not easily won. It is
cold. Change winter into summer and then Smiling Moon
will love him.'

"Tarhe cried in a loud voice to the Great Spirit: 'Make
me a master.'

"A voice out of the forest answered: 'Tarhe, great war
rior, wise chief, waste not thy time, go back to thy wigwam/

"Tarhe unheeding cried • 'Tarhe wins or dies. Make him
a master so that he may drive the ice northward.'

"Stormed the wild tempest; thundered the rivers of ice;
chill blew the north wind, the cold northwest wind, against the

Betty Zane 209

mild south wind; snow-spirits and hail-spirits fled before the
warm raindrops; the white mountains melted, and lo! it was
summer.

"On the mountain top Tarhe waited for his bride. Never
wearying, ever faithful he watched many years. There he
turned to stone. There he stands to-day, the Standing Stone
of ages. And Smiling Moon, changed by the Great Spirit
into the Night Wind, forever wails her lament at dusk through
the forest trees, and moans over the mountain tops."

Myeerah's story elicited cheers and praises from all. She
was entreated to tell another, but smilingly shook her head.
Now that her shyness had worn off to some extent she took
great interest in the jest and the general conversation.

Col. Zane's fine old wine flowed like water. The custom
was to fill a guest's cup as soon as it was empty. Drinking
much was rather encouraged than otherwise. But Col. Zane
never allowed this custom to go too far in his house.

"Friends, the hour grows late," he said. "To-morrow, after
the great event, we shall have games, shooting matches, run
ning races, and contests of all kinds. Capt. Boggs and I
have arranged to give prizes, and I expect the girls can give
Something to lend a zest to ^-e competition."

"Will the girls have a chance in these races?" asked Isaac.
"If so, I should like to see Betty and Myeerah run."

"Betty can outrun any woman, red or white, on the border,**
said Wetzel. "And she could make some of the men run their
level best."

"Well, perhaps we shall give her one opportunity to-mor-
row," observed the Colonel. "She used to be good at running,
but it seems to me that of late she has taken to books and *

"Oh, Eb! that is untrue," interrupted Betty.

Col. Zane laughed and patted his sister's cheek. "Never
mind, Betty," and then, rising, he continued, "Now let us
drink to the bride and groom-to-be. Capt. Boggs, I call on
you."

"We drink to the bride's fair beauty; we drink to the
groom's good luck," said Capt. Boggs, raising his cup.

"Do not forget the maid-of -honor," said Isaac.

210 Betty Zan«

"Yes, and the maid-of-honor. Mr. Clarke, will you saj
something appropriate?" asked Col. Zane.

Rising, Clarke said: "I would be glad to speak fittingly
on this occasion, but I do not think I can do it justice. I be
lieve as Col. Zane does, that this Indian Princess is the first
link in that chain of peace which will some day unite the
feel men and the white men. Instead of the White Crane she
should be called the White Dove. Gentlemen, rise and drink
to her long life and happiness."

The toast was drunk. Then Clarke refilled his cup ano*
holding it high over his head he looked at Betty.

"Gentlemen, to the maid-of-honor. Miss Zane, your hoalth»
your happiness, in this good old wine."

"I thank you," murmured Betty with downcast eyes. "I
bid you all good-night. Come, Myeerah."

Once more alone with Betty, the Indian girl turned to her
with eyes like twin stars.

"My sister has made me very happy," whispered Myeerah,
in her soft, low voice. "Myeerah's heart is full."

"I believe you are happy, for I know you love Isaac dearly."

"Myeerah has always loved him. She will love his sister."

"And I will love you," said Betty. "I will love you be
cause you have saved him. Ah! Myeerah, yours has been a
wonderful, wonderful love."

"My sister is loved," whispered Myeerah. "Myeerah saw
the look in the eyes of the great hunter. It was the sad light
of the moon on the water. He loves you. And the other
looked at my sister with eyes like the blue of northern slies,
He, too, loves you."

"Hush !" whispered Betty, trembling and hiding her i ace
"Hush ! Myeerah, do not speak of him."

CHAPTER XL

HE following afternoon the sun shone
fair and warm; the sweet smell
of the tan-bark pervaded the air;
and the birds sang their gladsome
songs. The scene before the grim,
battle-scarred old fort was not
without its picturesqueness. The
low vine-covered cabins on the hill
side looked more like picture
houses than like real habitations
of men ; the mill with its burned-out roof — a reminder of the
Indians — and its great wheel, now silent and still, might have
been from its lonely and dilapidated appearance a hundred
years old.

On a little knoll carpeted with velvety grass sat Isaac and
his Indian bride. He had selected this vantage point because
it afforded a fine view of the green square where the races
and the matches were to take place. Admiring women stood
around him and gazed at his wife. They gossiped in whispers
about her white skin, her little hands, her beauty. The girls
stared with wide open and wondering eyes. The youngsters
ran round and round the little group ; they pushed each other
over, and rolled in the long grass, and screamed with delight.
It was to be a gala occasion and every man, woman and
child in the settlement had assembled on the green. Col. Zane
and Sam were planting a post in the center of the square. It
was to be used in the shooting matches. Capt. Boggs and
Major McColloch were arranging the contestant in order.
Jonathan Zane, Will Martin, Alfred Clarke — all the young
men were carefully charging and priming their rifles. Betty
was sitting on the black stallion which Col. Zane had gener
ously offered as first prize. She was in the gayest of moods
and had just coaxed Isaac to lift her on the tall horse, from
which height she purposed watching the sports. Wetze]
alone did not seem infected by the spirit of gladsomeness

fan

Betty Zane*

which pervaded. He stood apart leaning on his long rifle
and taking no interest in the proceedings behind him. He
was absorbed in contemplating the forest on the opposite
shore of the river.

"Well, boys, I guess we are ready for the fun," called
Col. Zane, cheerily. "Only one shot apiece, mind you, except
in case of a tie. Now, everybody shoot his best."

The first contest was a shooting match known as "driving
the nail." It was as the name indicated, nothing less than
shooting at the head of a nail. In the absence of a nail — for
nails were scarce — one was usually fashioned from a knife
blade, or an old file, or even a piece of silver. The nail was
driven lightly into the stake, the contestants shot at it from a
distance as great as the eyesight permitted. To drive the
nail hard and fast into the wood at one hundred yards was a
feat seldom accomplished. By many hunters it was -deemed
more difficult than "snuffing the candle," another border pas
time, which consisted of placing in the dark at any distance
a lighted candle, and then putting out the flame with a single
rifle ball. Many settlers, particularly those who handled the
plow more than the rifle, sighted from a rest, and placed a
piece of moss under the rifle-barrel to prevent its spring at
the discharge.

The match began. Of the first six shooters Jonathan Zane
and Alfred Clarke scored the best shots. Each placed a bul
let in the half-inch circle round the nail.

"Alfred, very good, indeed," said Col. Zane. "Ymi have
made a decided improvement since the last shooting-match."

Six other settlers took their turns. All were unsuccessful
in getting a shot inside the little circle. Thus a tie between
Alfred and Jonathan had to be decided.

"Shoot close, Alfred," yelled Isaac. "I hope you beat him.
He always won from me and then crowed over it."

Alfred's second shot went wide of the mark, and as Jona«
than placed another Bullet in the circle, this time nearer the
center, Alfred had to acknowledge defeat.

"Here comes Miller," said Silas Zane. "Perhaps he w33
want a try."

Betty Zane 213

Col. Zane looked round. Miller had joined the party. He
carried his rifle and accoutrements, and evidently had
just returned to the settlement. He nodded pleasantly to
all.

"Miller, will you take a shot for the first prize, which I
was about to award to Jonathan ?" said Col. Zane.

"No. I am a little late, and not entitled to a shot. I will
take a try for the others," answered Miller.

At the arrival of Miller on the scene Wetzel had changed
his position to one nearer the crowd. The dog, Tige, trotted
closely at his heels. No one heard Tige's low growl or Wet-
zel's stern word to silence him. Throwing his arm over Betty's
pony, Wetzel apparently watched the shooters. In reality he
studied intently Miller's every movement.

"I expect some good, shooting for this prize," said Col.
Zane, waving a beautifully embroidered buckskin bullet pouch,
which was one of Betty's donations.

Jonathan having won his prize was out of the lists and
could compete no more. This entitled Alfred to the first shot
for second prize. He felt he would give anythmg he pos
sessed to win the dainty trifle which the Colonel had waved
aloft. Twice he raised his rifle in his exceeding earnestness
to score a good shot and each time lowered the barrel. When
finally he did shoot the bullet embedded itself in the second
circle. It was a good shot, but he knew ib would never win
that prize.

"A little nervous, eh?" remarked Miller, with a half sneer
on his swarthy face.

Several young settlers followed in succession, but their aims
were poor. Then little Harry Bennet took &is stand. Harry
had won many prizes in former matches, acd many of the
pioneers considered him one of the best shots in the country.

"Only a few more after you, Harry," saM €ol. Zane. "You
have a good chance."

"All right, Colonel. That's Betty's priz* and somebody'll
have to do some mighty tall shootin* to beat ,&e," said the lad,
his blue eyes flashing as he toed the mark.

Shouts and cheers of approval greeted his attempt. Hit

Betty Zane

bullet had passed into the wood so close to the nail that a knife
blade could not have been inserted between.

Miller's turn came next. He was a fine marksman and he
knew it. With the confidence born of long experience and
knowledge of his weapon, he took a careful though quick aim
and fired. He turned away satisfied that he would carry off
the coveted prize. He had nicked the nail.

But Miller reckoned without his host. Betty had seen the
result of his shot and the self-satisfied smile on his face. She
watched several of the settlers make poor attempts at the
nail, and then, convinced that not one of the other contestants
could do so well as Miller, she slipped off the horse and ran
around to where Wetzel was standing by her pony.

"Lew, I believe Miller will win my prize," she whispv .*ed,
placing her hand on the hunter's arm. "He has scratched the
nail, and I am sure no one except you can do better. I do not
want Miller to have anything of mine."

"And, little girl, you want me to shoot fer you," said
Lewis.

"Yes, Lew, please come and shoot for me."

It was said of Wetzel that he never wasted powder. He
never entered into the races and shooting-matches of the set
tlers, yet it was well known that he was the fleetest runner and
the most unerring shot on the frontier. Therefore, it was
with surprise and pleasure that Col. Zane heard the hunter
say he guessed he would like one shot anyway.

Miller looked on with a grim smile. He knew that, Wetzel
or no Wetzel, it would take a remarkably clever shot to beat
his.

"This shot's fer Betty," said Wetzel as he stepped to the
mark. He fastened his keen eyes on the stake. At that dis
tance the head of the nail looked like a tiny black speck.
Wetzel took one of the locks of hair that waved over his
broad shoulders and held it up in front of his eyes a moment.
He thus ascertained that there was not any perceptible breeze.
The long black barrel started slowly to rise — it seemed to the
interested onlookers that it would never reach a level — and
when, at last, it became rigid, there was a single second in

£etty Zane 215

which man and rifle appeared as if carved out of stone. Then
followed a burst of red flame, a puff of white smoke, a clear
ringing report.

Many thought the hunter had missed altogether. It seemed
that the nail had not changed its position ; there was no bullet
hole in the white lime wash that had been smeared round the
nail. But on close inspection the nail was found to have been
driven to its head in the wood.

"A wonderful shot !" exclaimed Col. Zane. "Lewis, I donM
remember having seen the like more than once or twice in my
life."

Wetzel made no answer. He moved away to his former
position and commenced to reload his rifle. Betty came run
ning up to him, holding in her hand the prize bullet
pouch.

"Oh, Lew, if I dared I would kiss you. It pleases me
more for you to have won my prize than if any one else had
won it. And it was the finest, straightest shot ever made.**

"Betty, it's a little fancy for redskins, but it'll be a keep
sake," answered Lewis, his eyes reflecting the bright smile
on her face.

Friendly rivalry in feats that called for strength, speed
and daring was the diversion of the youth of that period, and
the pioneers conducted this good-natured but spirited sport
strictly on its merits. Each contestant strove his utmost to
outdo his opponent. It was hardly to be expected that Alfred
would carry off any of the laurels. Used as he had seen to
comparative idleness he was no match for the hardy lads who
had been brought up and trained to a life of action, wherein
a ten mile walk behind a plow, or a cord of wood chopped in
a day, were trifles. Alfred lost in the foot-race and the sack-
race, but by dint of exerting himself to the limit of his
strength, he did manage to take one fall out of the best wrest
ler. He was content to stop here, and, throwing himself on the
grass, endeavored to recover his breath. He felt happier to
day than for some time past. Twice during the afternoon
he had met Betty's eyes and the look he encountered there made
his heart stir with a sirange feeling of fear and hope. While

216 Betty Zane

he was ruminating on what had happened between Betty and
himself he allowed his eyes to wander from one person to
another. When his gaze alighted on Wetzel it became riv
eted there. The hunter's attitude struck him as singular.
Wetzel had his face half turned toward the boys romping
near him and he leaned carelessly against a white oak tree.
But a close observer would have seen, as Alfred did, that there
was a certain alertness in that rigid and motionless figure.
Wetzel's eyes were fixed on the western end of the island.
Almost involuntarily Alfred's eyes sought the same direction.
The western end of the island ran out into a long low point
covered with briars, rushes and saw-grass. As Alfred directed
his gaze along the water line of this point he distinctly saw
a dark form flit from one bush to another. He was positive
he had not been mistaken. He got up slowly and uncon
cernedly, and strolled over to Wetzel.

"Wetzel, I saw an object just now," he said in a low tone.
"It was moving behind those bushes at the head of the island.
I am not sure whether it was an animal or an Indian."

•'Injuns. Go back and be natur'l like. Don't say no thin'
and watch Miller," whispered Wetzel.

Much perturbed by the developments of the last lew mo
ments, and wondering what was going to happen, Alfred
turned away. He had scarcely reached the others when he
heard Betty's voice raised in indignant protest.

"I tell you I did swim my pony across the river," cried
Betty. "It was just even with that point and the river was
higher than it is now."

"You probably overestimated your feat," said Miller, with
his disagreeable, doubtful smile. "I have seen the river so low
that it could be waded, and then it would be a very easy matter
to cross. But now your pony could not swim half the dis
tance."

"I'll show you," answeiad Betty, her black eyes flashing.
She put her foot in the stirrup and leaped on Madcap.

"Now, Betty, don't try that foolish ride again," implored
Mrs. Zane. "What do you care whether strangers believe it
or not? Eb, make her come back."

Betty Zane

Col. Zane only laughed and made no attempt to detain
Betty. He rather indulged her caprices.

"Stop her!" cried Clarke.

"Betty, where are you goin'?" said Wetzel, grabbing at
Madcap's bridle. But Betty was too quick for him. She
avoided the hunter, and with a saucy laugh she wheeled the
fiery little pony and urged her over the bank. Almost before
any one could divine her purpose she had Madcap in the water
up to her knees.

"Betty, stop !" cried Wetzel.

She paid no attention to his call. In another moment the
pony would be off the shoal and swimming.

"Stop ! Turn back, Betty, or I'll shoot the pony," shouted
Wetzel, and this time there was a ring of deadly earnestnes>
in his voice. With the words he had cocked and thrown for
ward the long rifle.

Betty heard, and in alarm she turned her pony. She looked
up with great surprise and concern, for she knew Wetzel was
not one to trifle.

"For God's sake!" exclaimed Colonel Zane, looking in
amazement at the hunter's face, which was now white and

"Why, Lew, you do not mean you would shoot Madcap?"
said Betty, reproachfully, as she reached the shore.

All present in that watching crowd were silent, awaiting
the hunter's answer. They felt that mysterious power which
portends the revelation of strange events. Col. Zane and
Jonathan knew the instant they saw Wetzel that something
extraordinary was coming. His face had grown cold and
gray ; his lips were tightly compressed ; his eyes dilated and
shone with a peculiar lustre.

"Where were you headin5 your pony?" asked Wetzel.

"I wanted to reach that point where the water is shallow,"
answered Betty.

"That's what I thought. Well, Betty, hostile Injuns are
hidin' and waitin' fer you in them high rushes right where
you were makin' fer," said Wetzel. Then he shouldered his
rifle and walked rapidly away.

218 Betty Zane

"Oh, he cannot be serious P' cried Betty. "Oh, how foolish
I am.

"Get back up from the river, everybody," commanded Col.
Zane.

"Col. Zane," said Clarke, walking beside the Colonel up
the bank, "I saw Wetzel watching che island in a manner that
I thought odd, under the circumstances, and I watched too.
Presently I saw a dark form dart behind a bush. I went over
and told Wetzel, and he said there were Indians on the island."

"This is most d n strange," said Col. Zane, frowning

heavily. "Wetzel's suspicions, Miller turns up, teases Betty
attempting that foolhardy trick, and then — Indians ! It may
be a coincidence, but it looks bad."

"Col. Zane, don't you think Wetzel may be mistaken?" said
Miller, coming up. "I came over from the other side this
morning and I did not see any Indian sign. Probably Wetzel
has caused needless excitement."

"It does not follow that because you came from over the
river there are no Indians there," answered Col. Zane, sharply.
"Do you presume to criticise Wetzel's judgment?"

"I saw an Indian !" cried Clarke, facing Miller with blazing
eyes. "And if you say I did not, you lie ! What is more, I
believe you know more than any one else about it. I watched
you. I saw you were uneasy and that you looked across the
river from time to time. Perhaps you had better explain to
Col. Zane the reason you taunted liis sister into attempting
that ride."

With a snarl more like that of a tiger than of a human
being, Miller sprang at Clarke. His face was dark with ma
lignant hatred, as he reached for and drew an ugly knife.
There were cries of fright from the children and screams from
the women. Alfred stepped aside with the wonderful quick
ness of the trained boxer and shot out his right arm. His
fist caught Miller a hard blow on the head, knocking him
down and sending the knife flying in the air.

It had all happened so quickly that everyone was as if par
alyzed. The settlers stood still and watched Miller rise slowly
to his feet.

Betty Zane 219

"Give me my knife!" he cried hoarsely. The knife had
fallen at the feet of Major McColloch, who had concealed it
with his foot.

"Let this end right here," ordered Col. Zane. "Clarke,
you have made a very strong statement. Have you anything
to substantiate your words?"

"I think I have," said Clarke. He was standing erect, his
face white and his eyes like blue steel. "I knew him at Ft.
Pitt. He was a liar and a drunkard there. He was a friend
of the Indians and of the British. What he was there he
must be here. It was Wetzel who told me to watch him.
Wetzel and I both think he knew the Indians were on the
island."

"Col. Zane, it is false," said Miller, huskily. "He is trying
to put you against me. He hates me because your sister "

"You cur!" cried Clarke, striking at Miller. Col. Zane
struck up the infuriated young man's arm.

"Give us knives, or anything," panted Clarke.

"Yes, let us fight it out now," said Miller.

"Capt. Boggs, take Clarke to the block-house. Make him
stay there if you have to lock him up," commanded Col. Zane.
"Miller, as for you, I cannot condemn you without proof.
If I knew positively that there were Indians on the island
and that you were aware of it, you would be a dead man in
less time than it takes to say it. I will give you the benefit of
the doubt and twenty-four hours to leave the Fort."

The villagers dispersed and went to their homes. They
«rere inclined to take Clarke's side. Miller had become dis
liked. His drinking habits and his arrogant and bold manner
had slowly undermined the friendships he had made during
the early part of his stay at Ft. Henry ; while Clarke's good
humor and willingness to help any one, his gentleness with the
children, and his several acts of heroism had strengthened their
regard.

"Jonathan, this looks like some of Girty's work. I wish
I knew the truth," said Col. Zane, as he, his brothers and
Betty and Myeerah entered the house. "Confound it! We
can't have even one afternoon of enjoyment. I must see Lewis.

220 Betty Zane

I cannot be sure of Clarke. He is evidently bitter against
Miller. That would have been a terrible fight. Those fellows
have had trouble before, and I am afraid we have not seen
the last of their quarrel."

"If they meet again — but how can you keep them apart?"
said Silas. "If Miller leaves the Fort without killing Clarke
he'll hide around in the woods and wait for a chance to shoot
him."

"Not with Wetzel here," answered Col. Zane. "Betty,

do you see what your " he began, turning to his sister, but

when he saw her white and miserable face he said no more.

"Don't mind, Betts. It wasn't any fault of yours," said
Isaac, putting his arm tenderly round the trembling girl. "I
for another believe Clarke was right when he said Miller knew
there were Indians over the river. It looks like a plot to
abduct you. Have no fear for Alfred. He can take care of
himself. He showed that pretty well."

An hour later Clarke had finished his supper and was sitting
by his window smoking his pipe. His anger had cooled some
what and his reflections were not of the pleasantest kind.' He
regretted that he lowered himself so far as to fight with a
man little better than an outlaw. Still there was a. grim satis
faction in the thought of the blow he had given Miller. He
remembered he had asked for a knife and that his enemy and
he be permitted to fight to the death. After all to have
ended, then and there, the feud between them would have been
the better course ; for he well knew Miller's desperate charac-
ter> that he had killed more than one white man, and that
now a fair fight might not be possible. Well, he thought,
what did it matter? He was not going to worry himself. He
did not care much, one way or another. He had no home ; he
could^ not make one without the woman he loved. He was~"a"
Soldier of Fortune; he was at the mercy of Fate, and he
would drift along and let what came be welcome. A soft foot
fall on the stairs and a knock on the door interrupted his
thoughts.

"Come in," he said.

The door opened and Wetzel strode into the room.

"I come over to say somethin' to you," said the hnnter,
taking the chair by the window and placing his rifle over his
knee.

"I will be pleased to listen or talk, as you desire," said
Alfred.

"I don't mind tellin' you that the punch you give Miller
was what he deserved. If he and Girty didn't hatch up that
trick to ketch Betty, I don't know nothin'. But we can't
prove nothin' on him yet. Mebbe he knew about the redskins ;
mebbe he didn't. Personally, I think he did. But I can't
kill a white man because I think somethin'. I'd have to know
fer sure. What I want to say is to put you on your guard
against the baddest man on the river."

"I am aware of that," answered Alfred. "I knew his record
at Ft. Pitt. What would you have me do?"

"Keep close till he's gone."

"That would be cowardly."

"No, it wouldn't. He'd shoot you from behind some tree
or cabin."

"Well, I'm much obliged to you for your kind advice, but
for ail that I won't stay in the house," said Alfred, beginning
to wonder at the hunter's earnest manner.

"You're in love with Betty, ain't you?"

The question came with Wetzel's usual bluntness and it
staggered Alfred. He could not be angry, and he did not
know what to say. The hunter went on :

"You needn't say so, because I know it. And I know she
loves you and that's why I want you to look out fer
Miller."

"My God! man, you're crazy," said Alfred, laughing
scornfully. "She cares nothing for me."

"That's your great failin', young feller. You fly ofPen
the handle too easy. And so does Betty. You both care
fer each other and are unhappy about it. Now, you don't
know Betty, and she keeps misunderstandin' you."

"For Heaven's sake! Wetzel, if you know anything tell
me. Love her? Why, the words are weak! I love her so
v, ell that an hour ago I would have welcomed death at Miller's

Betty Zane

hands only to fall and die at her feet defending her. Your
words set me on fire. What right have you to say that?
How do you know?"

The hunter leaned forward and put his hand on Alfred's
shoulder. On his pale face was that sublime light which comes
to great souls when they give up a life long secret, or when
they sacrifice what is best beloved. His broad chest heaved:
his deep voice trembled.

"Listen. I'm not a man fer words, and it's hard to tell.
Betty loves you. I've carried her in my arms when she was
a baby. I've made her toys and played with her when she
was a little girl. I know all her moods. I can read her like
I do the moss, and the leaves, and the bark of the forest. I've
loved her all my life. That's why I know she loves you. I
can feel it. Her happiness is the only dear thing left on earth
fer me. And that's why I'm your friend."

In the silence that followed his words the door opened and

closed and he was gone.

*********

Betty awoke with a start. She was wide awake in a second.
The moonbeams came through the leaves of the maple tree near
her window and cast fantastic shadows on the wall of her room.
Betty lay quiet, watching the fairy-like figures on the wall
and listening intently. What had awakened her? The night
was still; the crow of a cock in the distance proclaimed that
the hour of dawn was near at hand. She waited for Tige's
bark under her window, or Sam's voice, or the kicking and
trampling of horses in the barn — sounds that usually broke
her slumbers in the morning. But no such noises were forth
coming. Suddenly she heard a light, quick tap, tap, and then
a rattling in the corner. It was like no sound but that made by
a pebble striking the floor, bounding and rolling across the
room. There it was again. Some one was tossing stones in
at her window. She slipped out of bed, ran, and leaned on
the window-sill and looked out. The moon was going down
behind the hill, but there was light enough for her to dis~
tinguish objects. She saw a dark figure crouching by the
fence.

Betty Zane

"Who is it?" said Betty, a little frightened, but more cu
rious.

"Sh-h-h, it's Miller," came the answer, spoken in a
low voice.

The bent form straightened and stood erect. It stepped
forward under Betty's window. The light was dim, but Betty
recognized the dark face of Miller. He carried a rifle in his
hand and a pack on his shoulder.

"Go away, or I'll call my brother. I will not listen to you,"
said Betty, making a move to leave the window.

"Sh-h-h, not so loud," said Miller, in a quick, hoarse whis
per. "You'd better listen. I am going across the border to
join Girty. He is going to bring the Indians and the British
here to burn the settlement. If you will go away with me
I'll save the lives of your brothers and their families. I have
aided Girty and I have influence with him. If you won't go
you'll be taken captive and you'll see all your friends and rela
tives scalped and burned. Quick, your answer."

"Never, traitor ! Monster ! I'd be burned at the stake be
fore I'd go a step with you !" cried Betty.

"Then remember that you've crossed a desperate man. If
you escape the massacre you will beg on your knees to me.
This settlement is doomed. Now, go to your white-faced
lover. You'll find him cold. Ha! Ha! Ha!" and with a
taunting laugh he leaped the fence and disappeared in the
gloom.

Betty sank to the floor stunned, horrified. She shuddered
at the malignity expressed in Miller's words. How had she
e-rer been deceived in him ? He was in league with Girty. At
heart he was a savage, a renegade. Betty went over his words,
one by one.

"Your white-faced lover. You will find him cold," whis
pered Betty. "What did he mean?"

Then came the thought. Miller had murdered Clarke.
Betty gave one agonized quiver, as if a knife had been thrust
.Tnto her side, and then her paralyzed limbs recovered the power
of action. She flew out into the passage-way and pounded
on her brother's door,

Betty Zane

"Eb! Eb! Get up! Quickly, for God's sake!" she cried.
A smothered exclamation, a woman's quick voice, the heavy
thud of feet striding the floor followed Betty's alarm. Then
the door opened.

"Hello, Betts, what's up?" said Col. Zane, in his rapid
voice.

At the same moment the door at the end of the hall opened
and Isaac came out.

"Eb, Betty, I heard voices out doers and in the house.
What's the row?"

"Oh, Isaac ! Oh, Eb ! Something terrible has happened !"
cried Betty, breathlessly.

"Then it is no time to get excited," said the Colonel, calm
ly. He placed his arm round Betty and drew her into the
room. "Isaac, get down the rifles. Now, Betty, time is pre
cious. Tell me quickly, briefly."

"I was awakened by a stone rolling on the floor. I ran
to the window and saw a man by the fence. He came under
my window and I saw it was Miller. He said he was going
to join Girty. He said if I would go with him he would save
the lives of all my relatives. If I would not they would all
be killed, massacred, burned alive, and I would be taken away
as his captive. I told him I'd rather die before I'd go with
him. Then he said we were all doomed, and that ray white-
faced lover was already cold. With that he gave a laugh
which made my flesh creep and ran off toward the river. Oh !
he has murdered Mr. Clarke."

"Hell ! What a fiend !" cried Col. Zane, hurriedly getting
into his clothes. "Betts, you had a gun in there. Why didn't
you shoot him? Why didn't I pay more attention to WetzelV
advice ?"

"You should have allowed Clarke to kill him yesterday,"
said Isaac. "Like as not he'll have Girty here with a lot of
howling devils. What's to be done?"

"I'll send Wetzel after him and that'll soon wind up his
ball of yarn," answered Col. Zane.

"Please — go — and find— if Mr. Clarke "

J4Yes, Betty, I'll go at once. You must not lose courage,

Betty Zane £25

Betty. It's quite probable that Miller has killed Alfred and
that there's worse to follow."

"I'll come, Eb, as soon as I have told Myeerah. She is
scared half to death," said Isaac, starting for the door.

"All right, only Lurry," said Col. Zane, grabbing his rifle.
Without wasting more words, and lacing up his hunting shirt
as he went he ran out of the room.

The first rays of dawn came streaking in at the window
The chill gray light brought no cheer with its herald of the
I-V'J! of another day. For what might the morning sun dis-
ciuae ? It might shine on a long line of painted Indians. The
fresh breeze from over the river might bring the long war-
whoop of the savage.

No wonder Noah and his brother, awakened by the voice
of their father, sat up in their little bed and looked about with
frightened eyes. No wonder Mrs. Zane's face blanched. How
many times she had seen her husband grasp his rifle and run
out to meet danger !

"Bessie," said Betty. "If it's true I will not be able to bear
it. It's all my fault."

"Nonsense! You heard Eb say Miller and Clarke had
quarreled before. They hated each other before they ever
saw you."

A door banged, quick footsteps sounded on the stairs, and
Isaac came rushing into the room. Betty, deathly pale, stood
with her hands pressed to her bosom, and looked at Isaac with
a question in her eyes that her tongue could not speak.

"Betty, Alfred's badly hurt, but he's alive. I can tell you
no more now," said Isaac. "Bessie, bring your needle, silk
linen, liniment — everything you need for a bad knife wounds
and come quickly."

Betty's haggard face changed as if some warm light had
been reflected on it; her lips moved, and with a sob of thank
fulness she fled to her room.

Two hours later, while Annie was serving breakfast to
Betty and Myeerah, Col. Zane strode into the room.

"Well, one has to eat whatever happens," he said, his
clouded face brightening somewhat. "Betty, there's been

Betty Zane

bad work, bad work. When I got to Clarke's room I found
him lying on the bed with a knife sticking in him. A& it is
we are doubtful about pulling him through."

"May I see him?" whispered Betty, with pale lips,

"If the worst comes to the worst I'll take you OVCK But
it would do no good now and would surely unnerve you. He
still has a fighting chance."

"Did they fight, or was Mr. Clarke stabbed in his sleep?"

"Miller climbed into Clarke's window and knifed him in the
dark. As I came over I met Wetzel and told him I wanted
him to trail Miller and find if there is any truth in his threat
about Girty and the Indians. Sam just now found Tige tied
fast in the fence corner back of the barn. That explains the
mystery of Miller's getting so near the house. You know
he always took pains to make friends with Tige. The poor
dog was helpless ; his legs were tied and his jaws bound fast
Oh, Miller is as cunning as an Indian! He has had this all
planned out, and he has had more than one arrow to his bow.
But, if I mistake not he has shot his last one."

"Miller must be safe from pursuit by this time," said
Betty.

"Safe for the present, yes," answered Col. Zane, "but while
Jonathan and Wetzel live I would not give a snap of my
fingers for Miller's chances. Hello, I hear some one talking.
I sent for Jack and the Major."

The Colonel threw open the door. Wetzel, Major McCol-
loch, Jonathan and Silas Zane were approaching. They were
all heavily armed. Wetzel was equipped for a long chase.
Double leggins were laced round his legs. A buckskin knap^
sack was strapped to his shoulders.

"Major, I want you and Jonathan to watch the river," said
Col. Zane. "Silas, you are to go to the mouth of Yellow
Creek and reconnoiter. We are in for a siege. It may be
twenty-four hours and it may be ten days. In the meantime
I will get the Fort in shape to meet the attack. Lewis, you
have your orders. Have you anything to suggest?"

"I'll take the dog," answered Wetzel. "He'll save time for
me. I'll stick to Miller's trail and find Girtv's forces. I've

Betty Zane

believed all along that Miller was helpin' Girty, and I'm
thinkin' that where Miller goes there I'll find Girty and his
redskins. If it's night when I get back I'll give the call of
the hoot-owl three times, quick, so Jack and the Major will
know I want to get back acrost the river."

"All right, Lewis, we'H be expecting you any time," said
Col. Zane.

"Betty, I'm goin' now and I want to tell you somethin','*
said Wetzel, as Betty appeared in the door. "Come as far as
the end of the path with me."

"I'm sorry you must go. But Tige seems delighted," said
Betty, walking beside Wetzel, while the dog ran on before.

"Betty, I wanted to tell you to stay close like to the house,
fer this feller Miller has been layin' traps fer you, and the
Injuns is on the war-path. Don't ride your pony, and staj
home now."

"Indeed, I shall never again do anything as foolish as I did
yesterday. I have learned my lesson. And Oh ! Lew, I am so
grateful to you for saving me. When will you return to the
Fort?"

"Mebbe never, Betty."

"Oh, no. Don't say that. I know all this Indian talk
will blow over, as it always does, and you will come back and
everything will be all right again."

"I hope it'll be as you say, Betty, but there's no tellin',
there's no tellin'."

"You are going to see if the Indians are making prepara
tions to besiege the Fort?"

"Yes, I am goin' fer that. And if I happen to find Millei
on my way I'll give him Betty's regards."

Betty shivered at his covert meaning. Long ago in a mo
ment of playfulness, Betty had scratched her name on the
hunter's rifle. Ever after that Wetzel called his fatal weapon
by her name.

"If you were going simply to avenge me I would not let
you go. That wretch will get his just due some day, never
fear for that."

"Betty, 'taint likely he'll get away from me, and if he

22^ Betty Zane

there's Jonathan. This mornin' when we trailed Miller down
to the river bank Jonathan points acrost the river and says:
'You or me,' and I says : 'Me,' so it's all settled."

"Will Mr. Clarke live?" said Betty, in an altered tone, ask
ing the question which was uppermost in her mind.

"I think so, I hope so. He's a husky young chap and the
cut wasn't bad. He lost so much blood. That's why he'g so
weak. If he gets well he'll have somethin' to tell you."

"Lew, what do you mean ?" demanded Betty, quickly.

"Me and him had a long talk last night and "

"You did not go to him and talk of me, did you?" said
Betty, reproachfully.

They had now reached the end of the path. Wetzel
stopped and dropped the butt of his rifle on the ground.
Tige looked on and wagged his tail. Presently the hunter
spoke.

"Yes, we talked about you."

"Oh! Lewis. What did — could you have said?" faltered
Betty.

"You think I hadn't ought to speak to him of you?"

"I do not see why you should. Of course you are my good
friend, but he — it is not like you to speak of me."

"Fer once I don't agree with you. I knew how it was with
him so I told him. I knew how it was with you so I told him,
and I know how it is with me, so I told him that too."

"With you?" whispered Betty.

"Yes, with me. That kind of gives me a right, don't it,
considerin' it's all fer your happiness?"

"With you?" echoed Betty in a low tone. She was begin
ning to realize that she had not known this man. She looked
up at him. His eyes were misty with an unutterable sadness.

"Oh, no ! No ! Lew. Say it is not true," she cried, pite-
ously. All in a moment Betty's burdens became too heavy
for her. She wrung her little hands. Her brother's kindly
advice, Bessie's warnings, and old Grandmother Watkins'
words came back to her. For the first time she believed what
they said — that Wetzel loved her. All at once the scales fell
from her eyes and she saw this man as he really was. All the

Betty Zane 229

thousand and one things he had done for her, his simple teach
ing, his thoughtfulness, his faithfulness, and his watchful
protection — all came crowding on her as debts that she could
never pay. For now what could she give this man to whom
she owed more than her life? Nothing. It was too late. Her
love could have reclaimed him, could have put an end to tha*
solitary wandering, and have made him a good, happy man.

"Yes, Betty, it's time to tell it. I've loved you always,"
he said softly.

She covered her face and sobbed. Wetzel put his arm
round her and drew her to him until the dark head rested on
his shoulder. Thus they stood a moment.

"Don't cry, little one," he said, tenderly. "Don't grieve
fer me. My love fer you has been the only good in my life.
It's been happiness to love you. Don't think of me. I can
see you and Alfredj^in a happy home, sjorrounded Jby bright-
eyed children. There'll be a brave lad named fer me, and
when I come, if I ever do, I'll tell him stories, and learn him
the secrets of the woods, and how to shoot, and things I know
so well."

"I am so wretched — so miserable. To think I have been
so — so blind, and I have teased you — and — it might have been
— only now it's too late," said Betty, between her sobs.

"Yes, I know, and it's better so. This man you love rings
true. He has learnin' and edication. I have nothin' but
muscle and a quick eye. And that'll serve you and Alfred
when you are in danger. I'm goin' now. Stand here till I'm
out of sight."

"Kiss me goodbye," whispered Betty.

The hunter bent his head and kissed her on the brow. Then
he turned and with a rapid step went along the bluff toward
the west. When he reached the laurel bushes which fringed
the edge of the forest he looked back. He saw the slender
gray clad figure standing motionless in the narrow path. He
waved his hand and then turned and plunged into the forest.
The dog looked back, raised his head and gave a long, mourn
ful howl. Then, he too disappeared.
\ A mile west of the settlement Wetzel abandoned the forest

J

Betty Z ane

and picked his way down the steep bluff to the river. Here he
prepared to swim to the western shore. He took off his buck
skin garments, spread them out on the ground, placed his
knapsack in the middle, and rolling all into a small bundle
tied it round his rifle. Grasping the rifle just above the ham
mer he waded into the water up to his waist and then, turning
easily on his back he held the rifle straight up, allowing the
butt to rest on his breast. This left his right arm unhamp
ered. With a powerful back-arm stroke he rapidly swam the
river, which was deep and narrow at this point. In a quarter
of an hour he was once more in his dry suit.

He was now two miles below the island, where yesterday
the Indians had been concealed, and where this morning Miller
had crossed. Wetzel knew Miller expected to be trailed, and
that he would use every art and cunning of woodcraft to elude
his pursuers, or to lead them into a death-trap. Wetzel be
lieved Miller had joined the Indians, who had undoubtedly
been waiting for him, or for a signal from him, and that he
would use them to ambush the trail.

Therefore Wetzel decided he would try to strike Miller's
tracks far west of the river. He risked a great deal in at
tempting this because it was possible he might fail to find any
trace of the spy. But Wetzel wasted not one second. His
course was chosen. With all possible speed, which meant with
him walking only when he could not run, he traveled north
west. If Miller had taken the direction Wetzel suspected, the
trails of the two men would cross about ten miles from the
Ohio. But the hunter had not traversed more than a mile of
the forest when the dog put his nose high in the air and
growled. Wetzel slowed down into a walk and moved cau
tiously onward, peering through the green aisles of the woods.
A. few rods farther on Tige uttered another growl and put
his nose to the ground. He found a trail. On examination
Wetzel discovered in the moss two moccasin tracks. Two In
dians had passed that point that morning. They were going
northwest directly toward the camp of Wingenund. Wetzel
stuck close to the trail all that day and an hour before dusk
he heard the sharp crack of a rifle. A moment afterward a

Betty Zane

doe came crashing through the thicket to Wetzel's right and
bounding across a little brook she disappeared.

A tree with a bushy, leafy top had been uprooted by a
storm and had fallen across the stream at this point. Wetzel
crawled among the branches. The dog followed and lay down
beside him. Before darkness set in Wetzel saw that the clear
water of the brook had been roiled; therefore, he concluded
that somewhere upstream Indians had waded into the brook.
Probably they had killed a deer and were getting their evening
meal.

Hours passed. Twilight deepened into darkness. One by
one the stars appeared ; then the crescent moon rose over the
wooded hill in the west, and the hunter never moved. With
his head leaning against the log he sat quiet and patient. At
midnight he whispered to the dog, and crawling from his hid
ing place glided stealthily up the stream. Far ahead from
the dark depths of the forest peeped the flickering light of a
camp-fire. Wetzel consumed a half hour in approaching with
in one hundred feet of this light. Then he got down on his
hands and knees and crawled behind a tree on top of the little
ridge which had obstructed a view of the camp scene.

From this vantage point Wetzel saw a clear space sur
rounded by pines and hemlocks. In the center of this glade
a fire burned briskly. Two Indians lay wrapped in their
blankets, sound asleep. Wetzel pressed the dog close to the
ground, laid aside his rifle, drew his tomahawk, and lying
flat on his breast commenced to work his way, inch by inch,
toward the sleeping savages. The tall ferns trembled as the
hunter wormed his way among them, but there was no sound,
not a snapping of a twig nor a rustling of a leaf. The night-
wind-sighed softly through the pines ; it blew the bright sparks
from the burning logs, and fanned the embers into a red
glow; it swept caressingly over the sleeping savages, but it
could not warn them that another wind, the Wind-of-Death,
was near at hand.

A quarter of an hour elapsed. Nearer and nearer; slowly
but surely drew the hunter. With what wonderful patience
and self-control did this cold-blooded Nemesis approach his

victims ! Probably any other Indian slayer would have fired
his rifle and then rushed to combat with a knife or a tomahawk.
Not so Wetzel. He scorned to use powder. He crept forward
like a snake gliding upon its prey. He slid one hand in front
of him and pressed it down on the moss, at first gently, then
firmly, and when he had secured a good hold he slowly
dragged his body forward the length of his arm. At last
his dark form rose and stood over the unconscious Indians,
like a minister of Doom. The tomahawk flashed once, twice
in the firelight, and the Indians, without a moan, and with a
convulsive quivering and straightening of their bodies, passed
from the tired sleep of nature to the eternal sleep of death.

Foregoing his usual custom of taking the scalps, Wetzel
hurriedly left the glade. He had found that the Indians were
Shawnees and he had expected they were Delawares. He knew
Miller's red comrades belonged to the latter tribe. The pres
ence of Shawnees so near the settlement confirmed his belief
that a concerted movement was to be made on the whites in the
near future. He would not have been surprised to find the
woods full of redskins. He spent the remainder of that night
close under the side of a log with the dog curled up beside
him.

Next morning Wetzel ran across the trail of a white man
and six Indians. He tracked them all that day and half of
the night before he again rested. By noon of the following
day he came in sight of the cliff from which Jonathan Zane
had watched the sufferings of Col. Crawford. Wetzel now
made his favorite move, a wide detour, and came up on the
other side of the encampment.

From the top of the bluff he saw down into the village of
the Delawares. The valley was alive with Indians ; they were
working like beavers ; some with weapons, some painting them
selves, and others dancing war-dances. Packs were being
strapped on the backs of ponies. Everywhere was the hurry
and bustle of the preparation for war. The dancing and the
singing were kept up half the night.

At daybreak Wetzel was at his post. A little after sun
rise he heard a long yell which he believed announced the arri-

Betty Zane 233

val of an important party. And so it turned out. Amid
shrill yelling and whooping, the like of which Wetzel had
never before heard, Simon Girty rode into Wingenund's camp
at the head of one hundred Shawnee warriors and two hun
dred British Rangers from Detroit. Wetzel recoiled when he
saw the red uniforms of the Britishers and their bayonets.
Including Pipe's and Wingenund's braves the total force
which was going to march against the Fort exceeded six hun
dred. An impotent frenzy possessed Wetzel as he watched the
orderly marching of the Rangers and the proud bearing of
the Indian warriors. Miller had spoken the truth. Ft. Henry
was doomed.

"Tige, there's one of them struttin' turkey cocks as won't
see the Ohio," said Wetzel to the dog.

Hurriedly slipping from round his neck the bullet-pouch
that Betty had given him, he shook out a bullet and with the
point of his knife he scratched deep in the soft lead the letter
W. Then he cut the bullet half through. This done he de
tached the pouch from the cord and running the cord through
the cut in the bullet he bit the lead. He tied the string round
the neck of the dog and pointing eastward he said : "Home."

The intelligent animal understood perfectly. His duty
was to get that warning home. His clear brown eyes as much
as said: "I will not fail." He wagged his tail, licked the
hunter's hand, bounded away and disappeared in the forest.

Wetzel rested easier in mind. He knew the dog would stop
for nothing, and that he stood a far better chance of reaching
the Fort in safety than did he himself.

With a lurid light in his eyes Wetzel now turned to the
Indians. He would never leave that spot without sending a
leaden messenger into the heart of someone in that camp.
Glancing on all sides he at length selected a place where it was
possible he might approach near enough to the camp to get a
shot. He carefully studied the lay of the ground, the trees,
rocks, bushes, grass, — everything that could help screen him
from the keen eye of savage scouts. When he had marked
his course he commenced his perilous descent. In an hour he
had reached the bottom of the cliff. Dropping flat on the

Betty Zane

ground, he once more started his snail-like crawl. A stretch
of swampy ground, luxuriant with rushes and saw-grass, made
a part of the way easy for him, though it led through mud,
and slime, and stagnant water. Frogs and turtles warming
their backs in the sunshine scampered in alarm from their logs.
Lizards blinked at him. Moccasin snakes darted wicked
forked tongues at him and then glided out of reach of his
tomahawk. The frogs had stopped their deep bass notes. A
swamp-blackbird rose in fright from her nest in the saw-grass,
and twittering plaintively fluttered round and round over the
pond. The flight of the bird worried Wetzel. Such little
things as these might attract the attention of some Indian
scout. But he hoped that in the excitement of the war prep
arations these unusual disturbances would escape notice. At
last he gained the other side of the swamp. At the end of the
cornfield before him was the clump of laurel which he had
marked from the cliff as his objective point. The Indian
corn was now about five feet high. Wetzel passed through
this field unseen. He reached the laurel bushes, where he
idropped to the ground and lay quiet a few minutes. In the
dash which he would soon make to the forest he needed all his
breath and all his fleetness. He looked to the right to see
how far the woods was from where he lay. Not more than
one hundred feet. He was safe. Once in the dark shade of
those trees, and with his foes behind him, he could defy the
whole race of Dela wares. He looked to his rifle, freshened
the powder in the pan, carefully adjusted the flint, and then
rose quietly to his feet.

Wetzel's keen gaze, as he swept it from left to right, took
in every detail of the camp. He was almost in the village.
A tepee stood not twenty feet from his hiding-place. He
could have tossed a stone in the midst of squaws, and braves,
and chiefs. The main body of Indians was in the center of
the camp. The British were lined up further on. Both In
dians and soldiers were resting on their arms and waiting.
Suddenly Wetzel started and his heart leaped. Under a
maple tree not one hundred and fifty yards distant stood four
men in earnest consultation. One was an Indian. Wetzel

Betty Zane £35

recognized the fierce, stern face, the haughty, erect figure.
He knew that long, trailing war-bonnet. It could have
adorned the head of but one chief — Wingenund, the sachem
of the Delawares. A British officer, girdled and epauletted,
stood next to Wingenund. Simon Girty, the renegade, and
Miller, the traitor, completed the group.

Wetzel sank to his knees. The perspiration poured from
his face. The mighty hunter trembled, but it was from eag
erness. Was not Girty, the white savage, the bane of the
poor settlers, within range of a weapon that never failed?
Was not the murderous chieftain, who had once whipped and
tortured him, who had burned Crawford alive, there in plain
sight? Wetzel revelled a moment in fiendish glee. He passed
his hands tenderly over the long barrel of his rifle. In that
moment as never before he gloried in his power — a power
which enabled him to put a bullet in the eye of a squirrel at
the distance these men were from him. But only for an in
stant did the hunter yield to this feeling. He knew too well
the value of time and opportunity.

He rose again to his feet and peered out from under the
shading laurel branches. As he did so the dark face of Miller
turned full toward him. A tremor, like the intense thrill of a
tiger when he is about to spring, ran over Wetzel's frame.
In his mad gladness at being within rifle-shot of his great In
dian foe, Wetzel had forgotten the man he had trailed for two
days. He had forgotten Miller. He had only one shot —
and Betty was to be avenged. He gritted his teeth. The
Delaware chief was as safe as though he were a thousand miles
away. This opportunity for which Wetzel had waited so
many years, and the successful issue of which would have
gone so far toward the fulfillment of a life's purpose,
was worse than useless. A great temptation assailed the
hunter.

Wetzel's face was white when he raised the rifle; his dark
eye, gleaming vengefully, ran along the barrel. The little
bead on the front sight first covered the British officer, and
then the broad breast of Girty. It moved reluctantly and
searched out the heart of Wingenund, where it lingered for a

236 Betty Zane

fleeting instant. At last it rested upon the swarthy face of
Miller.

"Fer Betty," muttered the hunter, between his clenched
teeth as he pressed the trigger.

The spiteful report awoke a thousand echoes. When the
shot broke the stillness Miller was talking and gesticulating.
His hand dropped inertly ; he stood upright for a second, his
head slowly bowing and his body swaying perceptibly. Then
he plunged forward like a log, his face striking the sand. He
never moved again. He was dead even before he struck the
ground.

Blank silence followed this tragic denouement. Wingenund,
a cruel and relentless Indian, but never a traitor, pointed to
the small bloody hole in the middle of Miller's forehead, and
then nodded his head solemnly. The wondering Indians stood
aghast. Then with loud yells the braves ran to the cornfield ;
they searched the laurel bushes. But they only discovered
several moccasin prints in the sand, and a puff of white smoke
wafting away upon the summer breeze.

CHAPTER XII.

.'LFRED CLARKE lay between life and
death. Miller's knife-thrust, although
it had made a deep and dangerous
wound, had not pierced any vital part ;
the amount of blood lost made Alfred's
condition precarious. Indeed, he would
not have lived through that first day
but for a wonderful vitality. Col.
Zane's wife, to whom had been con
signed the delicate task of dressing the
wound, shook her head when she first saw the direction of the
cut. She found on a closer examination that the knife-blade
had been deflected by a rib, and had just missed the dungs.
The wound was bathed, sewed up, and bandaged, and the
greatest precaution taken to prevent the sufferer from loosen
ing the linen. Every day when Mrs. Zane returned from the
bedside of the young man she would be met at the door by
Betty, who, in that time of suspense, had lost her bloom, and
whose pale face showed the effects of sleepless nights.

"Betty, would you mind going over to the Fort and re
lieving Mrs. Martin an hour or two?" said Mrs. Zane one day
as she came home, looking worn and weary. "We are both
tired to death, and Nell Metzar was unable to come. Clarke
is unconscious, and will not know you, besides he is sleeping

now.':

Betty hurried over to Capt. Boggs' cabin, next the block
house, where Alfred lay, and with a palpitating heart and a
trepidation wholly out of keeping with the brave front she
managed to assume, she knocked gently on the door.

"Ah, Betty, 'tis you, bless your heart," said a matronly
little woman who opened the door. "Come right in. He is
sleeping now, poor fellow, and it's the first real sleep he has
had. He has been raving crazy forty-eight hours."

"Mrs. Martin, what shall I do?" whispered Betty.

"Oh, just watch him, my dear," answered the elder woman.

237

238 Betty Zane

"If you need me send one of the lads up to the house for me.
I shall return as soon as I can. Keep the flies away — they
are bothersome — and bathe his head every little while. If he
wakes and tries to sit up, as he does sometimes, hold him back.
He is as weak as a cat. If he raves, soothe him by talking to
him. I must go now, dearie."

Betty was left alone in the little room. Though she had
taken a seat near the bed where Alfred lay, she had not dared
to look at him. Presently conquering her emotion, Betty
turned her gaze on the bed. Alfred was lying easily on his
back, and notwithstanding the warmth of the day he was
covered with a quilt. The light from the window shone on
his face. How deathly white it was ! There was not a vestige
of color in it ; the brow looked like chiseled marble ; dark shad
ows underlined the eyes, and the whole face was expressive of
weariness and pain.

There are times when a woman's love is all motherliness.
All at once this man seemed to Betty like a helpless child. She
felt her heart go out to the poor sufferer with a feeling before
unknown. She forgot her pride and her fears and her disap
pointments. She remembered only that this strong man lay
there at death's door because he had resented an insult to her.
The past with all its bitterness rolled away and was lost, and
in its place welled up a tide of forgiveness strong and sweet
and hopeful. Her love, like a fire that had been choked and
smothered, smouldering but never extinct, and which blazes up
with the first breeze; warmed and quickened to life with the
touch of her hand on his forehead.

An hour passed. Betty was now at her ease and happier
than she had been for months. Her patient continued to sleep
peacefully and dreamlessly. With a feeling of womanly curi
osity Betty looked around the room. Over the rude mantel
piece were hung a sword, a brace of pistols, and two pic
tures. These last interested Betty very much. They were
portraits ; one of them was a likeness of a sweet-faced woman
who Betty instinctively knew was his mother. Her eyes lin
gered tenderly on that face, so like the one lying on the pillow.
The other portrait was of a beautiful girl whose dark, mag-

Betty Zane 239

netic eyes challenged Betty. Was this his sister or— someone
else? She could not restrain a jealous twinge, and she felt
annoyed to find herself comparing that face with her own.
She looked no longer at that portrait, but recommenced her
survey of the room. Upon the door hung a broad-brimmed
hat with eagle plumes stuck in the band. A pair of high-
topped riding-boots, a saddle, and a bridle lay on the floor in
the corner. The table was covered with Indian pipes, tobacco
pouches, spurs, silk stocks, and other articles.

Suddenly Betty felt that some one was watching her. She
turned timidly toward the bed and became much frightened
when she encountered the intense gaze from a pair of steel-blue
eyes. She almost fell from the chair ; but presently she recol
lected that Alfred had been unconscious for days, and that he
would not know who was watching by his bedside.

"Mother, is that you?" asked Alfred, in a weak, low
voice.

"Yes, I am here," answered Betty, remembering the old
woman's words about soothing the sufferer.

"But I thought you were ill."

"I was, but I am better now, and it is you who are ill."

"My head hurts so."

"Let me bathe it for you."

"How long have I been home?"

Betty bathed and cooled his heated brow. He caught and
held her hands, looking wonderingly at her the while.

"Mother, somehow I thought you had died. I must have
dreamed it. I am very happy; but tell me, did a message
come for me to-day?"

Betty shook her head, for she could not speak. She saw
he was living in the past, and he was praying for the letter
which she would gladly have written had she but known.

"No message, and 'it is now so long."

"It will come to-morrow," whispered Betty.

"Now, mother, that is what you always say," said the in
valid, as he began to toss his head wearily to and fro. "Will
she never tell me? It is not like her to keep me in suspense.
She was the sweetest, truest, loveliest girl in all the world.

240 Betty Zane

When I get well, mother, I am going to find out if she
loves me.'*

"I am sure she does. I know she loves you," answered
Betty softly.

"It is very good of you to say that," he went on in his
rambling talk. "Some day I'll bring her to you and we'll
make her a queen here in the old home. I'll be a better son
now and not run away from home again. I've given the dear
old mother many a heartache, but that's all past now. The
wanderer has come home. Kiss me good-night, mother."

Betty looked down with tear-blurred eyes on the haggard
face. Unconsciously she had been running her fingers
through the fair hair that lay so damp over his brow. Her
pity and tenderness had carried her far beyond herself, and
at the last words she bent her head and kissed .him on the lips.

"Who are you? You are not my mother. She is dead,"
he cried, starting up wildly, and looking at her with brilliant
eyes.

Betty dropped the fan and rose quickly to her feet. What
had she done? A terrible thought had flashed into her mind.
Suppose he were not delirious, and had been deceiving her.
Oh! for a hiding-place, or that the floor would swallow her.
Oh! if some one would only come.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Betty ran to the door.
To her great relief Mrs. Martin was coming up.

"You can run home now, there's a dear," said the old lady.
"We have several watchers for to-night. It will not be long
now when he will commence to mend, or else he will die. Poor
boy, please God that he gets well. Has he been good? Did
he call for any particular young lady? Never fear, Betty,
I'll keep the secret. He'll never know you were here unless
you tell him yourself."

Meanwhile the days had been busy ones for Col. Zane. In
anticipation of an attack from the Indians, the settlers had
been fortifying their refuge and making the block-house as
nearly impregnable as possible. Everything that was mov
able and was of value they put inside the stockade fence, out
of reach of the destructive redskins. All the horses and cattle

Betty Zane 2 U

were driven into the inclosure. Wagon-loads of hay, grain
and food were stored away in the block-house.

Never before had there been such excitement on the frontier.
Runners from Ft. Pitt, Short Creek, and other settlements
confirmed the rumor that all the towns along the Ohio were
preparing for war. Not since the outbreak of the Revolu
tion had there been so much confusion and alarm among the
pioneers. To be sure, those on the very verge of the frontier,
as at Ft. Henry, had heretofore little to fear from the British.
During most of this time there had been comparative peace on
the western border, excepting those occasional murders, raids,
and massacres perpetrated by the different Indian tribes, and
instigated no doubt by Girty and the British at Detroit. Now
all kinds of rumors were afloat: Washington was defeated; a
close alliance between England and the confederated western
tribes had been formed; Girty had British power and wealth
back of him. These and many more alarming reports trav
elled from settlement to settlement.

The death of Col. Crawford had been a terrible shock to
the whole county. On the border spread an universal gloom,
and the low, sullen mutterings of revengeful wrath. Craw
ford had been so prominent a man, so popular, and, except
in his last, and fatal expedition, such an efficient leader that his
sudder taking off was almost a national calamity. In fact no
one felt it more keenly than did Washington himself, for
Crawford was his esteemed friend.

Col. Zane believed Ft. Henry had been marked by the Brit
ish and the Indians. The last runner from Ft. Pitt had in
formed him that Mie description of Miller tallied with that of
one of the ten men who had deserted from Ft. Pitt in 1778
with the tories Girty, McKee, and Elliott. Col. Zane was
now satisfied that Miller was an agent of Girty and therefore
of the British. So since all the weaknesses of the Fort, the
number of the garrison, and the favorable conditions for a
siege were known to Girty, there was nothing left for Col.
Zane and his men but to make a brave stand.*

Jonathan Zane and Major McCclloch watched the river.
Wetzel had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed him.

Betty Zane

Some pioneers said he would never return. But Col. Zane
believed Wetzel would walk into the Fort, as he had done many
times in the last ten years, with full information concerning
the doings of the Indians. However, the days passed and
nothing happened. Their work completed, the settlers waited
for the first sign of an enemy. But as none came, gradually
their fears were dispelled and they began to think the alarm
had been a false one.

All this time Alfred Clarke was recovering his health and
strength. The day came when he was able to leave his bed
and sit by the window. How glad it made him feel to look
out on the green woods and the broad, winding river; how
sweet to his ears were the songs of the birds ; how soothing was
the drowsy hum of the bees in the fragrant honeysuckle by his
window. His hold on life had been slight and life was good.
He smiled in pitying derision as he remembered his reckless
ness. He had not been in love with life. In his gloomy
moods he had often thought life was hardly worth the living.
What sickly sentiment! He had been on the brink of the
grave, but he had been snatched back from the dark river of
Death. It needed but this to show him the joy of breathing,
the glory of loving, the sweetness of living. He resolved that
for him there would be no more drifting, no more purposeless-
ness. If what Wetzel had told him was true, if he really had
not loved in vain, then his cup of happiness was overflowing.
Like a far-off and almost forgotten strain of music some
memory struggled te take definite shape in his mind; but it
was so hazy, so vague, so impalpable, that he could remember
nothing clearly.

Isaac Zane and his Indian bride called on Alfred that after
noon.

"Alfred, I can't tell you how glad I am to see you up
again," said Isaac, earnestly, as he wrung Alfred's hand.
"Say, but it was a tight squeeze! It has been a bad time
for you."

Nothing could have been more pleasing than Myeerah's shy
yet eloquent greeting. She gave Alfred her little hand and
said in her figurative style of speaking, "Myeerah is happy

Betty Zane

for you and for others. You are strong like the West Wind
that never dies."

"Myeerah and I are going this afternoon, and we came over
to say good-bye to you. We intend riding down the river
fifteen miles and then crossing, to avoid running into any band
of Indians."

"And how does Myeerah like the settlement by this time?"

"Oh, she is getting on famously. Betty and she have fallen
in love with each other. It is amusing to hear Betty try to
talk in the Wyandot tongue, and to see Myeerah's consterna
tion when Betty gives her a lesson in deportment."

"I rather fancy it would be interesting, too. Are you not
going back to the Wyandots at a dangerous time?"

"As to that I can't say. I believe, though, it is better that
I get back to Tarhe's camp before we have any trouble with
the Indians. I am anxious to get there before Girty or some
of his agents."

"Well, if you must go, good luck to you, and may we meet
again."

"It will not be long, I am sure. And, old man," he con
tinued, with a bright smile, "when Myeerah and I come again
to Ft. Henry we expect to find all well with you. Cheer up,
and good-bye."

All the preparations had been made for the departure of
Isaac and Myeerah to their far-off Indian home. They were
to ride the Indian ponies on which they had arrived at the
Fort. Col. Zane had given Isaac one of his pack horses.
This animal carried blankets, clothing, and food which in
sured comparative comfort in the long ride through tl}t
wilderness.

"We will follow the old trail until we reach the hickory
swale," Isaac was saying to the Colonel, "and then we will turn
off and make for the river. Once across the Ohio we can make
the trip in two days."

"I think you'll make it all right," said Col. Zane.

"Even if I do meet Indians I shall have no fear, for I have
a protector here," answered Isaac as he led Myeerah's ponjr
•^p to the step.

244 Betty Zane

"Good-bye, Myeerah; he is yours, but do not forget he is
dear to us," said Betty, embracing and kissing the Indian girl.

"My sister does not know Myeerah. The White Eagle will
return."

"Good-bye, Betts, don't cry. I shall come home again.
And when I do I hope I shall be in time to celebrate another
event, this time with you as the heroine. Good-bye. Good-
bye."

The ponies cantered down the road. At the bend Isaac and
Myeerah turned and waved their hands until the foliage of
the trees hid them from view.

"Well, these things happen naturally enough. I suppose
they must be. But I should much have preferred Isaac stay
ing here. Hello ! What the deuce is that ? By Lord ! It's
Tige!"

The exclamation following Col. Zane's remarks had been
called forth by Betty's dog. He came limping painfully up
the road from the direction of the river. When he saw Col.
Zane he whined and crawled to the Colonel's feet. The dog
was wet and covered with burrs, and his beautiful glossy coat,
which had been Betty's pride, was dripping with blood.

"Silas, Jonathan, come here," cried Col. Zane. "Here's
Tige, back without Wetzel, and the poor dog has been shot al
most to pieces. What does it mean?"

"Indians," said Jonathan, coming out of the house with
Silas, and Mrs. Zane and Betty, who had heard the Colonel's
call.

"He has come a long way. Look at his feet. They are
torn and bruised," continued Jonathan. "And he has been
near Wingenund's camp. You see that red clay on his paws.
There is no red clay that I know of round here, and there are
miles of it this side of the Delaware camp."

"What is the matter with Tige?" asked Betty.

"He is done for. Shot through, poor fellow. How did he
ever reach home?" said Silas.

"Oh, I hope not ! Dear old Tige," said Betty as she knelt
and tenderly placed the head of the dog in her lap. "Why,
what is this? I never put that there. Eb, Jack, look here.

Betty Zane 245

There is a string around his neck," and Betty pointed ex
citedly to a thin cord which was almost concealed in the thick
curly hair.

"Good gracious ! Eb, look ! It is the string off the prize
bullet pouch I made, and that Wetzel won on Isaac's wedding-
day. It is a message from Lew," said Betty.

"Well, by Heavens ! This is strange. So it is. I remem
ber that string. Cut it off, Jack," said Col. Zane.

When Jonathan had cut the string and held it up they all
saw the lead bullet. Col. Zane examined it and showed them
what had been rudely scratched on it.

"A letter W. Does that mean Wetzel?" asked the Colonel.

"It means war. It's a warning from Wetzel — not the
slightest doubt of that," said Jonathan. "Wetzel sends this
because he knows we are to be attacked, and because there must
have been great doubt of his getting back to tell us. And
Tige has been shot on his way home."

This called the attention to the dog, which had been mo
mentarily forgotten. His head rolled from Betty's knee; a
quiver shook his frame ; he struggled to rise to his feet, but his
strength was too far spent; he crawled close to Betty's feet;
his eyes looked up at her with almost human affection; then
they closed, and he lay still. Tige was dead.

"It is all over, Betty. Tige will romp no more. He will
never be forgotten, for he was faithful to the end. Jonathan,
tell the Major of Wetzel's warning, and both of you go back
to your posts on the river. Silas, send Capt. Boggs to me."

An hour after the death of Tige the settlers were waiting
for the ring of the meeting-house bell to summon them to the
Fort.

Supper at Col. Zane's that night was not the occasion of
good-humored jest and pleasant conversation. Mrs. Zane's
face wore a distressed and troubled look ; Betty was pale and
quiet; even the Colonel was gloomy; and the children, missing
the usual cheerfulness of the evening meal, shrank close to
their mother.

Darkness slowly settled down ; and with it Came a feeling
of relief, at least for the night, for the Indians Barely attacked

Betty Zane

the settlements after dark. Capt. Boggs came over and he
and Col. Zane conversed in low tones.

"The first thing in the morning I want you to ride over to
Short Creek for reinforcements. I'll send the Major also and
by a different route. I expect to hear tonight from Wetzel.
Twelve times has he crossed that threshold with the informa
tion which made an Indian surprise impossible. And I feel
sure he will come again."

"What was that?" said Betty, who was sitting on the door
step.

"Sh-h !" whispered Col. Zane, holding up his finger.

The night was warm and still. In the perfect quiet which
followed the Colonel's whispered exclamation the listeners
heard the beating of their hearts. Then from the river bank
came the cry of an owl ; low but clear it came floating to their
ears, its single melancholy note thrilling them. Faint and far
off in the direction of the island sounded the answer.

"I knew it. I told you. We shall know all presently,'*
said Col. Zane. "The first call was Jonathan's, and it was
answered."

The moments dragged away. The children had fallen
asleep on the bearskin rug. Mrs. Zane and Betty had heard
the Colonel's voice, and sat with white faces, waiting, waiting
for they knew not what.

A familiar, light-moccasined tread sounded on the path, a
tall figure loomed up from the darkness ; it came up the path,
passed up the steps, and crossed the threshold.

"Wetzel!" exclaimed Col. Zane and Capt. Boggs. It was
indeed the hunter. How startling was his appearance ! The
buckskin hunting coat and leggins were wet, torn and bespat
tered with mud ; the water ran and dripped from him to form
little muddy pools on the floor; only his rifle and powder horn
were dry. His face was ghastly white except where a bullet
wound appeared on his temple, from which the blood had oozed
down over his cheek. An unearthly light gleamed from his
eyes. In that moment Wetzel was an appalling sight.

"Col. Zane, I'd been here days before, but I run into some
Shawnees, and they gave me a hard chase. I have to report

Betty Zane

that Girty, with four hundred Injuns and two hundred Brit
ishers, are on the way to Ft. Henry."

"My God!" exclaimed Col. Zane. Strong man as he was
the hunter's words had unnerved him.

The loud and clear tone of the church-bell rang out on the
still night air. Only once it sounded, but it reverberated
among the hills, and its single deep-toned ring was like a knell.
The- listeners almost expected to hear it followed by the fear
ful war-cry, that cry which betokened for many desolation
and death.

CHAPTER XIII.

ORNING found the settlers,
with the exception of
Col. Zane, his brother
Jonathan, the negro
Sam, and Martin Wet-
zel, all within the Fort.
Col. Zane had deter
mined, long before, that
in the event of another
siege, he would use his
house as an outpost. Twice it had been destroyed by fire at
the hands of the Indians. Therefore, surrounding himself
by these men, who were all expert marksmen, Col. Zane re
solved to protect his property and at the same time render
valuable aid to the Fort.

Early that morning a pirogue loaded with cannon balls,
from Ft. Pitt and bound for Louisville, had arrived and Cap
tain Sullivan, with his crew of three men, had demanded admit
tance. In the absence of Capt. Boggs and Major McColloch,
both of whom had been dispatched for reinforcements, Col.
Zane had placed his brother Silas in command of the Fort.
Sullivan informed Silas that he and his men had been fired on
by Indians and that they sought the protection of the Fort.
The services of himself and men, which he volunteered, were
gratefully accepted.

All told, the little force in the block-house did not exceed
forty-two, and that counting the boys and the women who
could handle rifles. The few preparations had been completed
and now the settlers were awaiting the appearance of the
enemy. Few words were spoken. The children were secured
where they would be o,ut of the way of flying bullets. They
were huddled together silent and frightened; pale-faced
but resolute women passed up and down the length of the
block-house; some carried buckets of water and baskets
of food; others were tearing bandages; grim- faced men

249

850 Betty Zane

peered from the portholes ; all were listening for the war-cry.

They had not long to wait. Before noon the well-known
whoop came from the wooded shore of the river, and it was
soon followed by the appearance of hundreds of Indians.
The river, which was low, at once became a scene of great ani
mation. From a placid, smoothly flowing stream it was turned
into a muddy, splashing, turbulent torrent. The mounted
warriors urged their steeds down the bank and into the water;
the unmounted improvised rafts and placed their weapons and
ammunition upon them; then they swam and pushed, kicked
and yelled their way across; other Indians swam, holding the
bridles of the pack-horses. A detachment of British soldiers
followed the Indians. In an hour the entire army appeared
on the river bluff not three hundred yards from the Fort.
They were in no hurry to begin the attack. Especially did
the Indians seem to enjoy the lull before the storm, and as
they stalked to and fro in plain sight of the garrison, or stood
in groups watching the Fort, they were seen in all their hid
eous war-paint and formidable battle-array. They were ex
ultant. Their plumes and eagle feathers waved proudly in
the morning breeze. Now and then the long, peculiarly bro
ken yell of the Shawnees rang out clear and strong. The
soldiers were drawn off to one side and well out of range of the
settlers' guns. Their red coats and flashing bayonets were
new to most of the little band of men in the block-house.

"Ho, the Fort!"

It was a strong, authoritative voice and came from a man
mounted on a black horse.

"Well, Girty, what is it?" shouted Silas Zane.

"We demand unconditional surrender," was the answer,

"You will never get it," replied Silas.

"Take more time to think it over. You see we have a force
here large enough to take the Fort in an hour."

"That remains to be seen," shouted some one through a
porthole.

An hour passed. The soldiers and the Indians lounged
around on the grass and walked to and fro on the bluff. At
intervals a taunting Indan yell, horrible in its suggestiveness,

Betty Zane 251

came floating on the air. When the hour was up three
mounted men rode out in advance of the waiting Indians.
One was clad in buckskin, another in the uniform of a British
officer, and the third was an Indian chief whose powerful form
was naked except for his buckskin belt and leggins.

"Will you surrender?" came in the harsh and arrogant
voice of the renegade.

"Never ! Go back to your squaws !" yelled Sullivan.

"I am Capt. Pratt of the Queen's Rangers. If you surren
der I will give you the best protection King George affords,"
shouted the officer.

"To hell with King George ! Go back to your hair-buying
Hamilton and tell him the whole British army could not make
us surrender," roared Hugh Bennet.

"If you do not give up, the Fort will be attacked and
burned. Your men will be massacred and your women given
to the Indians," said Girty.

"You will never take a man, woman or child alive," yelled
Silas. "We remember Crawford, you white traitor, and we
are not going to give up to be butchered. Come on with your
red- jackets and your red-devils. We are ready."

"We have captured and killed the messenger you sent out,
and now all hope of ouccor must be abandoned. Your doom
is sealed."

"What kind of a man was he?" shouted Sullivan.

"A fine, active young fellow," answered the outlaw.

"That's a lie," snapped Sullivan, "he was an old, gray-
haired man."

As the officer and the outlaw chief turned, apparently to
consult their companion, a small puff of white smoke shot
forth from one of the portholes of the block-house. It was
followed by the ringing report of a rifle. The Indian chief
clutched wildly at his breast, fell forward on his horse, and af
ter vainly trying to keep his seat, slipped to the ground. He
raised himself once, then fell backward and lav still. Full two

*/

hundred yards was not proof against Wetzel's deadly small
bore, and Red Fox, the foremost war chieftain of the Shaw-
nees, lay dead, a victim to the hunter's vengeance. It was

Betty Zanc

characteristic of Wetzel that he picked the chief, for he could
have shot either the British officer or the renegade. They
retreated out of range, leaving the body of the chief where
it had fallen, while the horse, giving a frightened snort, gal
loped toward the woods. Wetzel's yell coming quickly after
his shot, excited the Indians to a very frenzy, and they started
on a run for the Fort, discharging their rifles and screeching
like so many demons.

In the cloud of smoke which at once enveloped the scene the
Indians spread out and surrounded the Fort. A tremendous
rush by a large party of Indians was made for the gate of the
Fort. They attacked it fiercely with their tomahawks, and
a log which they used as a battering-ram. But the stout
gate withstood their united efforts, and the galling fire from
the portholes soon forced them to fall back and seek cover be
hind the trees and the rocks. From these points of vantage
they kept up an uninterrupted fire.

The soldiers had made a dash at the stockade-fence, yelling
derision at the small French cannon which was mounted on
top of the block-house. They thought it a "dummy" because
they had learned that in the 1777 siege the garrison had no
real cannon, but had tried to utilize a wooden one. They

/ "

yelled and hooted and mocked at this piece and dared the gar
rison to fire it. Sullivan, who was in charge of the cannon,
bided his time. When the soldiers were massed closely to
gether and making another rush for the stockade-fence Sulli
van turned loose the little "bulldog," spreading consternation
and destruction in the British ranks.

"Stand back ! Stand back !" Capt. Pratt was heard to yell.
"By God ! there's no wood about that gun."

After this the besiegers withdrew for a breathing spell. At
this early stage of the siege the Indians were seen to board
Sullivan's pirogue, and it was soon discovered they were carry
ing the cannon balls from the boat to the top of the bluff. In
their simple minds they had conceived a happy thought.
They procured a white-oak log probably a foot in diameter,
split it through the middle and hollowed out the inside with
their tomahawks. Then with iron chains and bars, which

Betty Z a n e 253

they took from Reihart's blacksmith shop, they bound and se
curely fastened the sides together. They dragged the impro
vised cannon nearer to the Fort, placed it on two logs and
weighted it down with stones. A heavy charge of powder and
ball was then rammed into the wooden gun. The soldiers,
though much interested in the manoeuvre, moved back to a safe
distance, while many of the Indians crowded round the new
weapon. The torch was applied; there was a red flash —
boom ! The hillside was shaken by the tremendous explosion,
and when the smoke lifted from the scene the naked forms of
the Indians could be seen writhing in agony on the ground.
Not a vestige of the wooden gun remained. The iron chains
had proved terrible death-dealing missiles to the Indians near
the gun. The Indians now took to their natural methods of
warfare. They hid in the long grass, in the deserted cabins,
behind the trees and up in the branches. Not an Indian was
visible, but the rain of bullets pattered steadily against the
block-house. Every bush and every tree spouted little puffs
of white smoke, and the leaden messengers of Death whistled
through the air.

After another unsuccessful eifort to destroy a section of the
stockade-fence the soldiers had retired. Their red jackets
made them' a conspicuous mark for the sharp-eyed settlers.
Capt. Pratt had been shot through the thigh. He suffered
great pain, and was deeply chagrined by the surprising and
formidable defense of the garrison which he had been led to
believe would fall an easy prey to the King's soldiers. He
had lost one-third of his men. Those who were left refused
to run straight in the face of certain death. They had not
been drilled to fight an unseen enemy. Capt. Pratt was com
pelled to order a retreat to the river bluff, where he conferred
with Girty.

Inside the block-house was great activity, but no confusion.
That little band of fighters might have been drilled for a
king's bodyguard. Kneeling before each porthole on the
river side of the Fort was a man who would fight while there
was breath left in him. He did not discharge his weapon
aimlessly as the Indians did, but waited until he saw the out-

254

line of an Indian form, or a red coat, or a puff of white smoke ;
then he would thrust the rifle-barrel forward, take a quick aim
and fire. By the side of every man stood a heroic woman
whose face was blanched, but who spoke never a word as she
put the muzzle of the hot rifle into a bucket of water, cooled
the barrel, wiped it dry and passed it back to the man be
side her.

Silas Zane had been wounded at the first fire. A glancing
ball had struck him on the head, inflicting a painful scalp
wound. It was now being dressed by Col. Zane's wife, whose
skilled fingers were already tired with the washing and the
bandaging of the injuries received by the defenders. In all
ihat horrible din of battle ; the shrill yells of the savages, the
hoarse shouts of the settlers, the boom of the cannon overhead^
the cracking of rifles and the whistling of bullets ; in all that
din of appalling noise, and amid the stifling smoke, the smell
of burned powder, the sickening sight of the desperately
wounded and the already dead, the Colonel's brave wife had
never faltered. She was here and there ; binding the wounds,
helping Lydia and Betty mould bullets, encouraging the men9
and by her example, enabling those women to whom border
war was new to bear up under the awful strain.

Sullivan, who had been on top of the block-house, came
down the ladder almost without touching it. Blood was run
ning down his bare arm and dripping from the ends of his
fingers.

"Zane, Martin has been shot," he said hoarsely. "The
same Indian who shot away these fingers did it. The bullets
seem to come from some elevation. Send some scout up there
and find out where that damned Indian is hiding."

"Martin shot? God, his poor wife! Is he dead?" said
Silas.

"Not yet. Bennet is bringing him down. Here, I want
this hand tied up, so that my gun won't be so slippery."

Wetzel was seen stalking from one porthole to another.
His fearful yell sounded above all the others. He seemed to
bear a charmed life, for not a bullet had so much as scratched
him. Silas communicated to him what Sullivan had said.

Betty Zane 255

The hunter mounted the ladder and went up on the roof. Soon
he reappeared, descended into the room and ran into the west
end of the block-house. He kneeled before a porthole through
which he pushed the long black barrel of his rifle. Silas and
Sullivan followed him and looked in the direction indicated by
his weapon. It pointed toward the bushy top of a tall poplar
tree which stood on the hill west of the Fort. Presently a lit
tle cloud of white smoke issued from the leafy branches, and it
was no sooner seen than Wetzel's rifle was discharged. There
was a great commotion among the leaves, the branches swayed!
and thrashed, and then a dark body plunged downward to
strike on the rocky slope of the bluff and roll swiftly out of
sight. The hunter's unnatural yell pealed out.

"Great God ! The man's crazy," cried Sullivan, staring at
Wetzel's demon-like face.

"No, no. It's his way," answered Silas.

At that moment the huge frame of Bennet filled up the
opening in the roof and started down the ladder. In one
arm he carried the limp body of a young man. When he
reached the floor he laid the body down and beckoned to Mrs.
Zane. Those watching saw that the young man was Will
Martin, and that he was still alive. But it was evident that
he had not long to live. His face had a leaden hue and his
eyes were bright and glassy. Alice, his wife, flung herself on
her knees beside him and tenderly raised the drooping head.
No words could express the agony in her face as she raised it
to Mrs. Zane. In it was a mute appeal, an unutterable prayer
for hope. Mrs. Zane turned sorrowfully to her task. There
was no need of her skill here. Alfred Clarke, who had been
ordered to take Martin's place on top of the block-house,
paused a moment in silent sympathy. When he saw that little
hole in the bared chest, from which the blood welled up in an
awful stream, he shuddered and passed on. Betty looked up
from her work and then turned away sick and faint. Her
mute lips moved as if in prayer.

Alice was left alone with her dying husband. She tenderly
supported his head on her bosom, leaned her face against his
and kissed the cold, numb lips. She murmured into his al-

256 Betty Zane

ready deaf ear the old tender names. He knew her, for he
made a feeble effort to pass his arm round her neck. A smile
illumined his face. Then death claimed him. With wild,
distended eyes and with hands pressed tightly to her temples
Alice rose slowly to her feet.

"Oh, God ! Oh, God !" she cried.

Her prayer was answered. In a momentary lull in the bat
tle was heard the deadly hiss of a bullet as it sped through
one of the portholes. It ended with a slight sickening spat
as the lead struck the flesh. Then Alice, without a cry, fell
on the husband's breast. Silas Zane found her lying dead
with the body of her husband clasped closely in her arms. He
threw a blanket over them and went on his wearying round

of the bastions.

*********

The besiegers had been greatly harassed and hampered by
the continual fire from Col. Zane's house. It was exceedingly
difficult for the Indians, and impossible for the British, tc
approach near enough to the Colonel's house to get an effec
tive shot. Col. Zane and his m^ri had the advantage of being
on higher ground. Also they had four rifles to a man, and
they used every spare moment for reloading. Thus they were
enabled to pour a deadly fire into the ranks of the enemy, and
to give the impression of being much stronger in force than
they really were.

About dusk the firing ceased and the Indians repaired to
the river bluff. Shortly afterward their camp-fires were ex
tinguished and all became dark and quiet. Two hours passed.
Fortunately the clouds, which had at first obscured the moon,
cleared away somewhat, and enough light was shed on the
scene to enable the watchers to discern objects near by.

Col. Zane had just called together his men for a conference.
He suspected some cunning deviltry on part of the Indians.

"Sam, take what stuff to eat you can lay your hands on and
go up to the loft. Keep a sharp lookout and report anything
to Jonathan or me," said the Colonel.

All afternoon Jonathan Zane had loaded and fired his rifles
in sullen and dogged determination. He had burst one rifle

B 5 1 1 y Z a n e 251

and disabled another. The other men were fine marksmen, but
it was undoubtedly Jonathan's unerring aim that made the
house so unapproachable. He used an extremely heavy, large
bore rifle. In the hands of a man strong enough to stand
its fierce recoil it was a veritable cannon. The Indians had
soon learned to respect the range of that rifle, and they gave
the cabin a wide berth.

But now that darkness had enveloped the valley the advan
tage lay with the savages. Col. Zane glanced apprehensively
at the blackened face of his brother.

"Do you think the Fort can hold out?" he asked in a husky
voice. He was a bold man, but he thought now of his wife
and children.

"I don't know," answered Jonathan. "I saw that big
Shawnee chief today. His name is Fire. He is well named.
He is a fiend. Girty has a picked band."

"The Fort has held out surprisingly well against such com
bined and fierce attacks. The Indians are desperate. You
can easily see that in the way in which they almost threw
their lives away. The green square is covered with dead
Indians."

"If help does not come in twenty-four hours not one man
will escape alive. Even Wetzel could not break through that
line of Indians. But if we can hold the Indians off a day
longer they will get tired and discouraged. Girty will not be
able to hold them much longer. The British don't count. It's
not their kind of war. They can't shoot, and so far as I can
see they haven't done much damage."

"To your posts, men, and every man think of the women
and children in the block -house."

For a lon^ time, which seemed hours to the waiting and
watching settlers, not a sound could be heard, nor any sign
of the enemT/ seen. Thin clouds had again drifted over the
moon, allow/ng only a pale, wan light to shine down on the
valley. Time dragged on and the clouds grew thicker and
denser until the moon and the stars were totally obscured,
Still no sign or sound of the savages.

"What was that?" suddenly whispered Col. Zane.

258 Betty

"It was a low whistle from Sam. We'd better go up," said
Jonathan.

They went up the stairs to the second floor from which they
ascended to the loft by means of a ladder. The loft was as
black as pitch. In that Egyptian darkness it was no use to
look for anything, so they crawled on their hands and knees
over the piles of hides and leather which lay on the floor,
iWlien they reached the small window they made out the form
of the negro.

"What is it, Sam?'* whispered Jonathan.

"Look, see thar, Massa Zane," came the answer in a hoarse
whisper from the negro and at the same time he pointed down
toward the ground.

Col. Zane put his head alongside Jonathan's and all three
men peered out into the darkness.

"Jack, can you see anything?" said Col. Zane.

"No, but wait a minute until the moon throws a light."

A breeze had sprung up. The clouds were passing rapidly
over the moon, and at long intervals a rift between the clouds
let enough light through to brighten the square for an in
stant.

"Now, Massa Zane, thar !" exclaimed the slave.

"I can't see a thing. Can you, Jack ?"

"I am not sure yet. I can see something, but whether it is
a log or not I don't know."

Just then there was a faint light like the brightening of a
firefly, or like the blowing of a tiny spark from a stick of burn
ing wood. Jonathan uttered a low curse.

"D n 'em ! At their old tricks with fire. I thought all

this quiet meant something. The grass out there is full of
Indians, and they are carrying lighted arrows under them so
as to cover the light. But we'll fool the red devils this time."

"I can see 'em, Massa Zane."

"Sh-h-h ! no more talk," whispered Col. Zane.

The men waited with cocked rifles. Another spark rose
seemingly out of the earth. This time it was nearer the house.
No sooner had its feeble light disappeared than the report of
the negro's rifle awoke the sleeping echoes. It was succeeded

Betty Zane £59

by a yell which seemed to come from under the window. Sev
eral dark forms rose so suddenly that they appeared to spring
out of the ground. Then came the peculiar twang of Indian
bows. There were showers of sparks and little streaks of fire
with long tails like comets winged their parabolic flight toward
the cabin. Falling short they hissed and sputtered in the
grass. Jonathan's rifle spoke and one of the fleeing forms
tumbled to the earth. A series of long yells from all around
the Fort greeted this last shot, but not an Indian fired a rifle.

Fire-tipped arrows were now shot at the block-house, but
not one took effect, although a few struck the stockade-fence.
Col. Zane had taken the precaution to have the high grass and
the clusters of goldenrod cut down all round the Fort. The
wisdom of this course now became evident, for the wily sav
ages could not crawl near enough to send their fiery arrows
on the roof of the block-house. This attempt failing, the
Indians drew back to hatch up some other plot to burn the
Fort.

"Look !" suddenly exclaimed Jonathan.

Far down the road, perhaps five hundred yards from the
Fort, a point of light had appeared. At first it was still, and
then it took an odd jerky motion, to this side and to that, up
and down like a jack-o-lantern.

"What the hell?" muttered Col. Zane, sorely puzzled.
"Jack, by all that's strange it's getting bigger."

Sure enough the spark of fire, or whatever it was, grew
larger and larger. Col. Zane thought it might be a light
carried by a man on horseback. But if this were true where
was the clatter of the horse's hoofs? On that rocky bluff no
horse could run noiselessly. It could not be a horse. Fasci
nated and troubled by this new mystery which seemed to pre
sage evil to them the watchers waited with that patience known
only to those accustomed to danger. They knew that what
ever it was, it was some satanic stratagem of the savages, and
that it would come all too soon.

The light was now zigzagging back and forth across the
7oad, and approaching the Fort with marvelous rapidity.
Now its motion was like the wide swinging of a lighted lantern

260 Betty Zane

on a dark night. A moment more of breathless suspense and
the lithe form of an Indian brave could be seen behind the
light. He was running with almost incredible swiftness down
the road in the direction of the Fort. Passing at full speed
within seventy-five yards of the stockade- fence the Indian shot
his arrow. Like a fiery serpent flying through the air the mis
sile sped onward in its graceful flight, going clear over the
block-house, and striking with a spiteful thud the roof of one
of the cabins beyond. Unhurt by the volley that was fired at
him, the daring brave passed swiftly out of sight.

Deeds like this were dear to the hearts of the savages. They
were deeds which made a warrior of a brave, and for which
honor any Indian would risk his life over and over again. The
exultant yells which greeted this performance proclaimed its
success.

The breeze had already fanned the smouldering arrow into
a blaze and the dry roof of the cabin had caught fire and was
burning fiercely.

"That infernal redskin is going to do that again," ejacu
lated Jonathan.

It was indeed true. That same small bright light could
be seen coming down the road gathering headway with every
second. No doubt the same Indian, emboldened by his suc
cess, and maddened with that thirst for glory so often fatal to
his kind, was again making the effort to fire the block-house.

The eyes of Col. Zane and his companions were fastened
on the light as it came nearer and nearer with its changing
motion. The burning cabin brightened the square before the
Fort. The slender, shadowy figure of the Indian could be
plainly seen emerging from the gloom. So swiftly did he run
that he seemed to have wings. Now he was in the full glare
of the light. What a magnificent nerve, what a terrible assur
ance there was in his action ! It seemed to paralyze all. The
red arrow emitted a shower of sparks as it was discharged.
This time it winged its way straight and true and imbedded
iteelf in the roof of the block-house.

Almost at the same instant a solitary rifle shot rang out
and the daring warrior plunged headlong, sliding face down-

Betty Zane 261

ward in the dust of the road, while from the Fort came that de
moniac yell now grown so familiar.

"Wetzel's compliments," muttered Jonathan. "But the
mischief is done. Look at that damned burning arrow. If it
doesn't blow out the Fort will go."

The arrow was visible, but it seemed a mere spark. It alter
nately paled and glowed. One moment it almost went out,
and the next it gleamed brightly. To the men, compelled to
look on and powerless to prevent the burning of the now ap
parently doomed block-house, that spark was like the eye of
Hell.

"Ho, the Fort," yelled Col. Zane with all the power of his
strong lungs. "Ho, Silas, the roof is on fire !"

Pandemonium had now broken out among the Indians.
They could be plainly seen in the red glare thrown by the
burning cabin. It had been a very dry season, the rough
shingles were like tinder, and the inflammable material burst
quickly into great flames, lighting up the valley as far as the
edge of the forest. It was an awe-inspiring and a horrible
spectacle. Columns of yellow and black smoke rolled heaven
ward ; every ob j ect seemed dyed a deep crimson ; the trees as
sumed fantastic shapes; the river veiled itself under a red
glow. Above the roaring and crackling of the flames rose the
inhuman yelling of the savages. Like demons of the inferno
they ran to and fro, their naked painted bodies shining in the
glare. One group of savages formed a circle and danced
hands-around a stump as gayly as a band of school-girls at a
May party. They wrestled with and hugged one another;
they hopped, skipped and jumped, and in every possible way
manifested their fiendish joy.

The British took no part in this revelry. To their credit
it must be said they kept in the background as though ashamed
of this horrible fire-war on people of their own blood.

"Why don't they fire the cannon?" impatiently said Col.
Zane. "Why don't they do something?"

"Perhaps it is disabled, or maybe they are short of ammu
nition," suggested Jonathan.

"The block-house will burn down before our eyes. Look!

262 Betty Zane

The hell-hounds have set fire to the fence. I see men running
and throwing water."

"I see something on the roof of the block-house," cried
Jonathan. "There, down towards the east end of the roof,
and in the shadow of the chimney. And as I'm a living sin
ner it's a man crawling towards that blazing arrow. The In
dians have not discovered him yet. He is still in the shadow.
But they'll see him. God! What a nervy thing to do in
the face of all those redskins. It is almost certain death."

"Yes, and they see him," said the Colonel.

With shrill yells the Indians bounded forward and aimed
and fired their rifles at the crouching figure of the man. Some
hid behind the logs they had rolled toward the Fort; others
boldly faced the steady fire now pouring from the portholes.
The savages saw in the movement of that man an attempt to
defeat their long-cherished hope of burning the Fort. Seeing
he was discovered, the man did not hesitate, nor did he lose a
second. Swiftly he jumped and ran toward the end of the
roof where the burning arrow, now surrounded by blazing
shingles, was sticking in the roof. How he ever ran along
that slanting roof and with a pail in his hand was incompre
hensible. In moments like that men become superhuman. It
all happened in an instant. He reached the arrow, kicked it
over the wall, and then dashed the bucket of water on the
blazing shingles. In that single instant, wherein his tall form
was outlined against the bright light behind him, he presented
the fairest kind of a mark for the Indians. Scores of rifles
were levelled and discharged at him. The bullets pattered like
hail on the roof of the block-house, but apparently none found
their mark, for the man ran back and disappeared.

"It was Clarke!" exclaimed Col. Zane. "No one but
Clarke has such light hair. Wasn't that a plucky thing?"

"It has saved the block-house for to-night," answered Jona
than. "See, the Indians are falling back. They can't stand
in the face of that shooting. Hurrah! Look at them fall!
It could not have happened better. The light from the cabin
will prevent any more close attacks for an hour and daylight
is near."

CHAPTER XIV.

HE sun rose red. Its ruddy rays
peeped over the eastern hills,
kissed the tree-tops, glinted along
the stony bluffs, and chased away
the gloom of night from the val
ley. Its warm gleams penetrated
the portholes of the Fort and cast
long bright shadows on the walls;
but it brought little cheer to the
sleepless and almost exhausted de
fenders. It brought to many of the settlers the familiar old
sailor's maxim: "Redness 'a the morning, sailor's warning."
Rising in its crimson glory the sun flooded the valley, dyeing
the river, the leaves, the grass, the stones, tingeing everything
with that awful color which stained the stairs, the benches, the
floor, even the portholes of the block-house.

Historians call this the time that tried men's souls. If it
tried the men think what it must have been to those grand,
heroic women. Though they had helped the men load and fire
nearly forty-eight hours ; though they had worked without a
moment's rest and were now ready to succumb to exhaustion;
though the long room was full of stifling smoke and the sick
ening odor of burned wood and powder, and though the row
of silent, covered bodies had steadily lengthened, the thought
of giving up never occurred to the women. Death there would
be sweet compared to what it would be at the hands of the
redmen.

At sunrise Silas Zane, bare-chested, his face dark and fierce,
strode into the bastion which was connected with the block
house. It was a small shedlike room, and with portholes open
ing to the river and the forest. This bastion had seen the
severest fighting. Five men had been killed here. As Silas
entered four haggard and powder-begrimed men, who were
kneeling before the portholes, looked up at him. A dead man
lay in one corner.

Ml

Betty Zane

"Smith's dead. That makes fifteen," said Silas. "Fifteen
out of forty-two, that leaves twenty-seven. We must hold
out. Men, don't expose yourselves recklessly. How goes it
at the south bastion?"

"All right. There's been firin' over there all night," an
swered one of the men. "I guess it's been kinder warm over
that way. But I ain't heard any shootin' for some time."

"Young Bennet is over there, and if the men needed any*
thing they would send him for it," answered Silas. "I'll send
some food and water. Anything else?"

"Powder. We're nigh out of powder," replied the man
addressed. "And we might jes as well make ready fer a high
old time. The red devils hain't been quiet all this last hour
fer nothin'."

Silas passed along the narrow hallway which Jed from the
bastion into the main room of the block-house. As he turned
the corner at the head of the stairway he encountered a boy
who was dragging himself up the steps.

"Hello! Who's this? Why, Harry!" exclaimed Silas,
grasping the boy and drawing him into the room. Once in
the light Silas saw that the lad was so weak he could hardly
stand. He was covered with blood. It dripped from a band
age wound tightly about his arm ; it oozed through a hole in
his hunting shirt, and it flowed from a wound over his temple.
The shadow of death was already stealing over the pallid face,
but from the grey eyes shone an indomitable spirit, a spirit
which nothing but death could quench.

"Quick!" the lad panted. "Send men to the south wall.
The redskins are breakin' in where the water from the spring
runs under the fence."

"Where are Metzar and the other men?"

"Dead ! Killed last night. I've been there alone all night.
I kept on shootin'. Then I gets plugged here under the chin.
Knowin' it's all up with me I deserted my post when I heard
the Injuns choppin' on the fence where it was on fire last
night. But I only — run — because — they're gettin' in."

"Wetzel, Bennet, Clarke!" yelled Silas, as he laid the boy
on the bench.

Betty Zane 265

Almost as Silas spoke the tall form of the hunter con
fronted him. Clarke and the other men were almost as
prompt.

"Wetzel, run to the south wall. The Indians are cutting a
hole through the fence."

Wetzel turned, grabbed his rifle and an axe and was gone
like a flash.

"Sullivan, you handle the men here. Bessie, do what you
can for this brave lad. Come, Bennet, Clarke, we must follow
Wetzel," commanded Silas.

Mrs. Zane hastened to the side of the fainting lad. She
washed away the blood from the wound over his temple. She
saw that a bullet had glanced en the bone and that the wound
was not deep or dangerous. She unlaced the hunting shirt at
the neck and pulled the flaps apart. There on the right
breast, on a line with the apex of the lung, was a horrible
gaping wound. A murderous British slug had passed
through the lad. From the hole at every heart-beat poured
the dark, crimson life-tide. Mrs. Zane turned her white face
away for a second; then she folded a small piece of linen,
pressed it tightly over the wound, and wrapped a towel round
the lad's breast.

"Don't waste time on me. It's all over," he whispered.
"Will you call Betty here a minute ?"

Betty came, white-faced and horror-stricken. For forty
hours she had been living in a maze of terror. Her movements
had almost become mechanical. She had almost ceased to hear
and feel. But the light in the eyes of this dying boy brought
her back to the horrible reality of the present.

"Oh, Harry! Harry! Harry!" was all Betty could
whisper.

"I'm goin', Betty. And I wanted — you to say a little
prayer for me — and say good-bye to me," he panted.

Betty knelt by the bench and tried to pray.

"I hated to run, Betty, but I waited and waited and nobody
came, and the Injuns was getti-n' in. They'll find dead Injuns
in piles out there. I was shootin' fer you, Betty, and every
time I aimed I thought of you."

266 Betty Zane

The lad rambled on, nis voice growing weaker and weaker
and finally ceasing. The hand which had clasped Betty's so
closely loosened its hold. His eyes closed. Betty thought he
was dead, but no! he still breathed. Suddenly his eyes
opened. The shadow of pain was gone. In its place shone
a beautiful radiance.

"Betty, I've cared a lot for you — and I'm dyin' — happy
because I've fought fer you — and somethin' tells me — you'll
• — be saved. Good-bye." A smile transformed his face and
his gray eyes gazed steadily into hers. Then his head fell
back. With a sigh his brave spirit fled.

Hugh Bennet looked once at the pale face of his son, then
he ran down the stairs after Silas and Clarke. When the
three men emerged from behind Capt. Boggs' cabin, which
was adjacent to the block-house, and which hid the south wall
from their view, they were two hundred feet from Wetzel.
They heard the heavy thump of a log being rammed against
the fence; then a splitting and splintering of one of the six-
inch oak planks. Another and another smashing blow
and the lower half of one of the planks fell inwards, leaving an
aperture large enough to admit an Indian. The men dashed
forward to the assistance of Wetzel, who stood by the hole
with upraised axe. At the same moment a shot rang out.
Bennet stumbled and fell headlong. An Indian had shot
through the hole in the fence. Silas and Alfred sheered off
toward the fence, out of line. When within twenty yards of
Wetzel they saw a swarthy-faced and athletic savage squeeze
through the narrow crevice. He had not straightened up be
fore the axe, wielded by the giant hunter, descended on his
head, cracking his skull as if it were an eggshell. The sav
age sank to the earth without even a moan. Another savage,
naked and powerful, slipped in. He had to stoop to get
through. He raised himself, and seeing Wetzel, he tried to
dodge the lightning sweep of the axe. It missed his head-, at
which it had been aimed, but struck just over the shoulders,
and buried itself in flesh and bone. The Indian uttered an
agonizing yell which ended in a choking, gurgling sound as
the blood spurted from his throat. Wetzel Dulled the weapon

Betty Zane 267

from the body of his victim, and with the same motion he
swung it around. This time the blunt end met the next In
dian's head with a thud like that made by the butcher when
he strikes the bullock to the ground. The Indian's rifle
dropped, his tomahawk flew into the air, while his body rolled
down the little embankment into the spring. Another and
another Indian met the same fate. Then two Indians en
deavored to get through the aperture. The awful axe swung
by those steel arms, dispatched both of them in the twinkling
of an eye. Their bodies stuck in the hole.

Silas and Alfred stood riveted to the spot. Just then Wet-
zel in all his horrible glory was a sight to freeze the marrow
of any man. He had cast aside his hunting shirt in that run
to the fence and was now stripped to the waist. He was cov
ered with blood. The muscles of his broad back and his
brawny arms swelled and rippled under the brown skin. At
every swing of the gory axe he let out a yell the like of which
had never before been heard by the white men. It was the
hunter's mad yell of revenge. In his thirst for vengeance he
had forgotten that he was defending the Fort with its women
and its children ; he was fighting because he loved to kill.

Silas Zane heard the increasing clamor outside and knew
that hundreds of Indians were being drawn to the spot.
Something must be done at once. He looked around and his
eyes fell on a pile of white-oak logs that had been hauled in
side the Fort. They had been placed there by Col. Zane, with
wise forethought. Silas grabbed Clarke and pulled him
toward the pile of logs, at the same time communicating his
plan. Together they carried a log to the fence and dropped
it in front of the hole. Wetzel immediately stepped on it and
took a vicious swing at an Indian who was trying to poke his
rifle sideways through the hole. This Indian had discharged
his weapon twice. While Wetzel held the Indians at bay,
Silas and Clarke piled the logs one upon another, until the
hole was closed. This effectually fortified and barricaded the
weak place in the stockade fence. The settlers in the bastions
were now pouring such a hot fire into the ranks of the savage*
that they were compelled to retreat out of range.

Betty Zane

While Wetzel washed the blood from his arms and his shoul«
iers Silas and Alfred hurried back to where Bennet had fallen.
They expected to find him dead, and were overjoyed to see the
big settler calmly sitting by the brook binding up a wound
In his shoulder.

\ "It's nothin' much. Jest a scratch, but it tumbled me over,"
he said. "I was comin' to help you. That was the wust
/njun scrap I ever saw. Why didn't you keep on lettin' 'em
come in? The red varmints would 'a kept on comin' and Wet-
eel was good f er the whole tribe. All you'd had to do was to
drag the dead Injuns aside and give him elbow room."

Wetzel joined them at this moment, and they hurried back
fco the block-house. The firing had ceased on the bluff. They
met Sullivan at the steps of the Fort. He was evidently com
ing in search of them.

"Zane, the Indians and the Britishers are getting ready for
a more determined and persistent effort than any that has yet
been made," said Sullivan.

"How so?" asked Silas.

"They have got hammers from the blacksmith's shop, and
ihey boarded my boat and found a keg of nails. Now they
are making a number of ladders. If they make a rush all at
once and place ladders against the fence we'll have the Forb
full of Indians in ten minutes. They can't stand in the face
l)f a cannon charge. We must use the cannon."

"Clarke, go into Capt. Boggs' cabin and fetch out two kegs
of powder," said Silas.

The young man turned in the direction of the cabin, while
Silas and the others ascended the stairs.

"The firing seems to be all on the south side," said Silas,
"and is not so heavy as it was."

"Yes, as I said, the Indians on the river front are busy with
their new plans," answered Sullivan.

"Why does not Clarke return?" said Silas, after waiting
a few moments at the door of the long room. "We have no
time to lose. I want to divide one keg of that powder among
the men."

Clarke appeared at the moment. He was breathing heavily

tfetty Zane 269

as though he had run up the stairs, or was laboring under a
powerful emotion. His face was gray.

"I could not find any powder !" he exclaimed. "I searched
every nook and corner in Capt. Boggs' house. There is no
powder there."

A brief silence ensued. Everyone in the block-house heard
the young man's voice. No one moved. They all seemed
waiting for someone to speak. Finally Silas Zane burst out:

"Not find it? You surely could not have looked well.
Capt. Boggs himself told me there were three kegs of powder
in the storeroom. I will go and find it myself."

Alfred did not answer, but sat down on a bench9 with an
odd numb feeling round his heart. He knew what was com
ing. He had been in the Captain's house and had seen those
kegs of powder. He knew exactly where they had been.
Now they were not on the accustomed shelf, nor at any other
place in the storeroom. While he sat there waiting for the
awful truth to dawn on the garrison, his eyes roved from one
end of the room to the other. At last they found what they
were seeking. A young woman knelt before a charcoal fire
which she was blowing with a bellows. It was Betty. Her
face was pale and weary, her hair dishevelled, her shapely
arms blackened with charcoal, but notwithstanding she looked
calm, resolute, self-contained. Lydia was kneeling by her side
holding a bullet-mould on a block of wood. Betty lifted the
ladle from the red coals and poured the hot metal with a steady
hand and an admirable precision. Too much or too little
lead would make an imperfect ball. The little missile had to
be just so for those soft-metal, smooth-bore rifles. Then
Lydia dipped the mould in a bucket of water, removed it and
knocked it on the floor. A small, shiny lead bullet rolled out.
She rubbed it with a greasy rag and then dropped it in a jar.
For nearly forty hours, without sleep or rest, almost without
food, those brave girls had been at their post.

Silas Zane came running into the room. His face was
ghastly, even his lips were white and drawn.

"Sullivan, in God's name, what can we do? The powder is
gone !" he cried in a strident voice.

270 Betty Zane

"Gone?" repeated several voices.

"Gone?" echoed Sullivan. "Where?"

"God knows. I found where the kegs stood a few days
ago. There were marks in the dust. They have been moved."

"Perhaps Boggs put them here somewhere," said Sullivan.
"We will look."

"No use. No use. We were always careful to keep the
powder out of here on account of fire. The kegs are gone,
gone."

"Miller stole them," said Wetzel in his calm voice.

"What difference does that make now?" burst out Silas,
turning passionately on the hunter, whose quiet voice in that
moment seemed so unfeeling. "They're gone !"

In the silence which ensued after these words the men looked
at each other with slowly whitening faces. There was no need
of words. Their eyes told one another what was coming. The
fate which had overtaken so many border forts was to be
theirs. They were lost! And every man thought not of
himself, cared not for himself, but for those innocent children,
those brave young girls and heroic women.

A man can die. He is glorious when he calmly accepts
death ; but when he fights like a tiger, when he stands at bay
his back to the wall, a broken weapon in his band, bloody, de
fiant, game to the end, then he is sublime. Then he wrings
respect from the souls of even his bitterest foes. Then he is
avenged even in bis death.

But what can women do in times of war? They help, they
cheer, they inspire, and if their cause is lost they must accept
death or worse. Few women have the courage for self-
destruction. "To the victor belong the spoils," and women
have ever been the spoils of war.

No wonder Silas Zane and his men weakened in that mo
ment. With only a few charges for their rifles and none for
the cannon how could they hope to hold out against the sav
ages? Alone they could have drawn their tomahawks and
have made a dash through the lines of Indians, but with the
iromen and the children that was impossible.

"Wetzel, what can we do? For God's sake, advise us P* said

BettyZane 271

Silas hoarsely. "We cannot hold the Fort without powder.
We cannot leave the women here. We had better tomahawk
every woman in the block-house than let her fall into the hands
of Girty."

"Send some one fer powder," answered Wetzel.

"Do you think it possible," said Silas quickly, a ray of hope
lighting up his haggard features. "There's plenty of powder
in Eb's cabin. Whom shall we send? Who will vol
unteer?"

Three men stepped forward, and others made a movement.

"They'd plug a man full of lead afore he'd get ten foot
from the gate," said Wetzel. "I'd go myself, but it wouldn't
do no good. Send a boy, and one as can run like a streak."

"There are no lads big enough to carry a keg of powder.
Harry Bennett might go," said Silas. "How is he, Bessie?"

"He is dead," answered Mrs. Zane.

Wetzel made a motion with his hands and turned away.
A short, intense silence followed this indication of hopeless
ness from him. The women understood, for some of them cov
ered their faces, while others sobbed.

"/ will go."

It was Betty's voice, and it rang clear and vibrant through
out the room. The miserable women raised their drooping
heads, thrilled by that fresh young voice. The men looked
stupefied. Clarke seemed turned to stone. Wetzel came
quickly toward her.

"Impossible !" said Sullivan.

Silas Zane shook his head as if the idea were absurd.

"Let me go, brother, let me go?" pleaded Betty as she
placed her little hands softly, caressingly on her brother's bare
arm. "I know it is only a forlorn chance, but still it is a
chance. Let me take it. I would rather die that way than
remain here and wait for death."

"Silas, it ain't a bad plan," broke in Wetzel. "Betty can
run like a deer. And bein' a woman they may let her get to
the cabin without shootin'."

Silas stood with arms folded across his broad chest. As lie
gazed at his sister great tears coursed down his dark cheeks

BettyZane

and spiashed on the hands which so tenderly clasped his own.
Betty stood before him transformed ; all signs of weariness
had vanished ; her eyes shone with a fateful resolve ; her white
and eagei face was surpassingly beautiful with its light of
hope, of prayer, of heroism.

"Let me go, brother. You know I can run, and oh ! I will
fly today. Every moment is precious. Who knows? Per
haps Capt. Boggs is already near at hand with help. You
cannot spare a man. Let me go."

"Betty, Heaven bless and save you, you shall go," said
Silas.

"No! No! Do not let her go!'* cried Clarke, throwing
himself before them. He was trembling, his eyes were wild,
and he had the appearance of a man suddenly gone ~md.

"She shall not go," he cried.

"What authority have you here?" demanded Silas Zane,
sternly. "What right have you to speak ?"

"None, unless it is that I love her and I will go for her,5*
answered Alfred desperately.

"Stand back!" cried Wetzel, placing his powerful hard on
Clarke's breast and pushing him backward. "If you love
her you don't want to have her wait here for them red devils,"
and he waved his hand toward the river. "If she gets back
she'll save the Fort. If she fails she'll at least escape Girty **

Betty gazed into the hunter's eyes and then into Alfred's.
She understood both men. One was sending her out to her
death because he knew it would be a thousand times more
merciful than the fate which awaited *rer at the Hands of the
Indians. The other had not the strength to watch her go to
her death. He had offered himself rather than see her take
such fearful chances.

"I know. If it were possible you would both save me," said
Betty, simply. "Now you can do nothing but pray that God
may spare mv life long enough to reach the gate. Sila?5, 1 anr
ready."

, Downsta*** a little group of white-faced men were standing
before the gateway. Silas Zane had withdrawn the iron bar.
Sullivan stood ready to swing in the ponderous ga'.e. Wetzel

LIKE AN ARROW SPRUNG FROM A BOW BETTY FLASHED PAST

Page 274.

Betty Zane 273

was speaking with a clearness and a rapidity which were won~
derful under the circumstances.

"When we let you out you'll have a clear path. Run, but
not very fast. Save your speed. Tell the Colonel to empty
a keg of powder in a table cloth. Throw it over your shoul
der and start back. Run like you was racin' with me, and
keep on comin' if you do get hit. Now go!"

The huge gate creaked and swung in. Betty ran out,
]ooking straight before her. She had covered half the dis
tance between the Fort and the Colonel's house when long
taunting yells filled the air.

"Squaw ! Waugh ! Squaw ! Waugh !" yelled the Indians
m contempt.

Not a shot did they fire. The yells ran all along the river
front, showing that hundreds of Indians had seen the slight
figure running up the gentle slope toward the cabin.

Betty obeyed Wetzel's instructions to the letter. - She ran
easily and not at all hurriedly, and was as cool as if there had
not been an Indian within miles.

Col Zane had seen the gate open and Betty come forth.
When she bounded up the steps he flung open the dcor and
she ran into his arms.

"Betts, for God's sake! What's this?" he cried.

"We are out of powder. Empty a keg of powder into a
table cloth. Quick ! I've not a second to lose," she answered,
at the same time slipping off her outer skirt. She wanted
nothing to hinder that run for the block-house.

Jonathan Zane heard Betty's first words and disappeared
into the magazine-room. He came out with a keg in his arms.
With one blow of an axe he smashed in the top of the keg.
In a twinkling a long black stream of the precious stuff was
piling up in a little hill in the center of the table. Then the
corners of the table cloth were caught up, turned and
hvisted, and the bag of powder was thrown over Betty's
shoulder.

"Brave girl, so help me God. you are going to do it !" cried
Col. Zane, throwing open the door. "I know you can. Run
as you never ran in all your life.'*

874 Betty Zane

Like an arrow sprung from a bow Betty flashed past the
Colonel and out on the green. Scarcely ten of the long hun
dred yards had been covered by her flying feet when a roar
of angry shouts and yells warned Betty that the keen-eyed
savages saw the bag of powder and now knew they had been
deceived by a girl. The cracking of rifles began at a point
on the bluff nearest Col. Zane's house, and extended in a half
circle to the eastern end of the clearing. The leaden messen
gers of Death whistled past Betty. They sped before her and
behind her, scattering pebbles in her path, striking up the
dust, and ploughing little furrows in the ground. A quarter
of the distance covered ! Betty had passed the top of the knoll
now »nd she was going down the gentle slope like the wind.
None but a fine marksman could have hit that small, flitting
figure. The yelling and screeching had become deafening.
The reports of the rifles blended in a roar. Yet above it all
Btetty heard Wetzel's stentorian yell. It lent wings to her
feet. Half the distance covered! A hot, stinging pain shot
through Betty's arm, but she heeded it not. The bullets
were raining about her. They sang over her head; hissed
close to her ears, and cut the grass in front of her; they pat
tered like hail on the stockade-fence, but still untouched, un
harmed, the slender brown figure sped toward the gate. Three-
fourths of the distance covered ! A tug at the flying hair, and
a long, black tress cut off by a bullet, floated away on the
breeze. Betty saw the big gate swing ; she saw the tall figure
of the hunter ; she saw her brother. Only a few more yards i
On ! On ! On ! A blinding red mist obscured her sight. She
lost the opening in the fence, but unheeding she rushed on.
Another second and she stumbled; she felt herself
grasped by eager arms ; she heard the gate slam and
the iron bar shoot into place; then she felt and heard
no more.

Silas Zane bounded up the stairs with a doubly precious
burden in his arms. A mighty cheer greeted his entrance.
It aroused Alfred Clarke, who had bowed kis head on the
bench and had lost all sense of time and place. What were
the women sobbing and crying over? To whom belonged

Betty Zane 275

that white face? Of course, it was the face of the girl he
loved. The face of the girl who had gone to her death. And
he writhed in his agony.

Then something wonderful happened. A warm, living
flush swept over that pale face. The eyelids fluttered; they
opened, and the dark eyes, radiant, beautiful, gazed straight
into Alfred's.

Still Alfred could not believe his eyes. That pale face and
the wonderful eyes belonged to the ghost of his sweetheart.
They had come back to haunt him. Then he heard a voice.

"O-h ! but that brown place burns !"

Alfred saw a bare and shapely arm. Its beauty was marred
by a cruel red welt. He heard that same sweet voice laugh
and cry together. Then he came back to life and hope
With one bound he sprang to a porthole.

"God, what a woman!" he said between his teeth, as he
thrust the rifle forward.

It was indeed not a time for inaction. The Indians, realiz
ing they had been tricked and had lost a golden opportunity,
rushed at the Fort with renewed energy. They attacked from
all sides and with the persistent fury of savages long disap
pointed in their hopes. They were received with a scathing,
deadly fire. Bang! roared the cannon, and the detachment of
savages dropped their ladders and fled. The little "bull dog"
was turned on its swivel and directed at another rush of In
dians. Bang! and the bullets, chainlinks, and bits of iron
ploughed through the ranks of the enemy. The Indians never
lived who could stand in the face of well-aimed cannon-shot.
They fell back. The settlers, inspired, carried beyond them
selves by the heroism of a girl, fought as they had never
fought before. Every shot went to a redskin's heart. Im
pelled by the powder for which a brave girl had offered her
life, guided by hands and arms of iron, and aimed by eyes
as fixed and stern as Fate, every bullet shed the life-blood of
a warrior.

Slowly and sullenly the red men gave way before that fire.
Foot by foot they retired. Girty was seen no more. Fire,
the Shawnee chief, lay dead in the road almost in the same

Betty Zane

spot where two days before his brother chief, Red Fox, had bit
the dust. The British had long since retreated.

When night came the exhausted and almost famished be*
siegers sought rest and food.

The moon came out clear and beautiful, as if ashamed of
her traitor's part of the night before, and brightened up the
valley, bathing the Fort, the river, and the forest in her silver
light.

Shortly after daybreak the next morning the Indians, des
pairing of success, held a pow-wow. While they were grouped
in plain view of the garrison, and probably conferring over
the question of raising the siege, the long, peculiar whoop of
an Indian spy, who had been sent out to watch for the ap
proach of a relief party, rang out. This seemed a signal for
retreat. Scarcely had the shrill cry ceased to echo in the
hills when the Indians and the British, abandoning their dead?
moved rapidly across the river.

After a short interval a mounted force was seen galloping
up the creek road. It proved to be Capt. Boggs, Swearengen,
and Williamson with seventy men. Great was the rejoicing!
Capt. Boggs had expected to find only the ashes of the Fort.
And the gallant little garrison, although saddened by the loss?
<of half its original number, rejoiced that it had repulsed the
united forces of braves and British.

CHAPTER XV.

EACE and quiet reigned once
more at Ft. Henry. Before the
glorious autumn days had waned
the settlers had repaired the dam
age done to their cabins, and
many of them were now occu
pied with the fall plowing. Never
had the Fort experienced such
busy days. Many new faces
were seen in the little meeting
house. Pioneers from Virginia, from Ft. Pitt, and eastward
had learned that Fort Henry had repulsed the biggest force
of Indians and soldiers that Governor Hamilton and his min
ions could muster. Settlers from al] points along the river
were flocking to Col. Zane's settlement. New cabins dotted
the hillside; cabins and barns in all stages of construction
could be seen. The sounds of hammers, the ringing stroke of
the axe, and the crashing down of mighty pines or poplars
were heard all day long.

Col. Zane sat oftener and longer than ever before in his
favorite seat on his doorstep. On this evening he had just
returned from a hard day in the fields, and sat down to rest
a moment before going to supper. A few da}rs previous
Isaac Zane and Myeerah had come to the settlement. Myeerah
brought a treaty of peace signed by Tarhe and the other
Wyandot chieftains. The once implacable Huron was now
ready to be friendly with the white people. Col. Zane and
his brothers signed the treaty, and Betty, by dint of much
persuasion, prevailed on Wetzel to bury the hatchet with the
Hurons. So Myeerah's love, like the love of many other
women, accomplished more than years of war and blood
shed.

The genial and happy smile never left Col. Zane's face,
and as he saw the well-laden rafts coming down the river, and
the air of liveliness and animation about the growing settle-

878 Betty Zane

merit, his smile broadened into one of pride and satisfaction.
The prophecy that he had made twelve years before was ful
filled. His dream was realized. The wild, beautiful spot
where he had once built a bark shack and camped half a year
without seeing a white man was now the scene of a bustling
settlement; and he believed he would live to see that settle
ment grow into a prosperous city. He did not think of the
thousands of acres which would one day make him a wealthy
man. He was a pioneer at heart ; he had opened up that rich
new country; he had conquered all obstacles, and that was
enough to make him content.

"Papa, when shall I be big enough to fight bars and
bufflers and Injuns?" asked Noah, stopping in his play and
straddling his father's knee.

"My boy, did you not have Indians enough a short time
ago?"

"But, papa, I did not get to see any. I heard the shooting
and yelling. Sammy was afraid, but I wasn't. I wanted to
look out of the little holes, but they locked us up in the dark
room."

"If that boy ever grows up to be like Jonathan or Wetzel
it will be the death of me," said the Colonel's wife, who had
heard the lad's chatter.

"Don't worry, Bessie. When Noah grows to be a man the
Indians will be gone."

Col. Zane heard the galloping of a horse and looking up
saw Clarke coming down the road on his black thoroughbred.
The Colonel rose and walked out to the hitching-block, where
Clarke had reined in his fiery steed.

"Ah, Alfred. Been out for a ride?"

"Yes, I have been giving Roger a little exercise."

"That's a magnificent animal. I never get tired watching
him move. He's the best bit of horseflesh on the river. By
the way, we have not seen much of you since the siege. Of
course you have been busy. Getting ready to put on the
harness, eh? Well, that's what we want the young men to
do. Come over and see us."

"I have Deen trying to come. You know how it is with

Betty Zane 279

me — about Betty, I mean. Col. Zane, I — I love her. That's
all."

"Yes, I know, Alfred, and I don't wonder at your fears.
But I have always liked you, and now I guess it's about time
for me to put a spoke in your wheel of fortune. If Betty
cares for you — and I have a sneaking idea she does — I wiH
give her to you."

"I have nothing. I gave up everything when I left home."

"My lad, never mind about that," said the Colonel, laying
his hand on Clarke's knee. "We don't need riches. I have
so often said that we need nothing out here on the border
but honest hearts and strong, willing hands. These you have.
That is enough for me and for my people, and as for landv
why, I have enough for an army of young men. I got my
land cheap. That whole island there I bought from Corn-
planter. You can have that island or any tract of land along
the river. Some day I shall put you at the head of my men0
It will take you years to cut that road through to Maysville0
Oh, I have plenty of work for you."

"Col. Zane, I cannot thank you," answered Alfred, with
emotion. "I shall try to merit your friendship and esteem,
Will you please tell your sister I shall come over in the morn
ing and beg to see her alone."

"That I will, Alfred. Goodnight."

Col. Zane strode across his threshold with a happy smile
on his face. He loved to joke and tease, and never lost an
opportunity.

"Things seem to be working out all right. Now for some
fun with Her Highness," he said to himself.

As the Colonel surveyed the pleasant home scene he felt
he had nothing more to wish for. The youngsters were play
ing with a shaggy little pup which had already taken Tige's
place in their fickle affections. His wife was crooning a lulla
by as she gently rocked the cradle to and fro. A wonderfuk
mite of humanity peacefully slumbered in that old cradle.
Annie was beginning to set the table for the evening meal.
Isaac lay with a contented smile on his face, fast asleep on the
couch* where, only a short time before, he had been la'd bleed

880 Betty Zatie

ing and almost dead. Betty was reading to Myeerah, whose
eyes were rapturously, bright as she leaned her head against
her sister and listened to the low voice.

"Well, Betty, what do you think ?" said Col. Zane, stopping
before the girls.

"What do I think?" retorted Betty. "Why, I think you
are very rude to interrupt me. I am reading to Myeerah he*
Srst novel."

"I have a very important message for you."

"Forme? What! From whom?"

"Guess."

Betty ran through a list of most of her acquaintances, but
after each name her brother shook his head.

"Oh, well, I don't care," she finally said. The color in her
cheeks had heightened noticeably.

"Very well. If you do not care, I will say nothing more,"
said Col. Zane.

At this juncture Annie called them to supper. Later, when
Col. Zane sat on the doorstep smoking, Betty came and sat
beside him with her head resting against his shoulder. The
Colonel smoked on in silence. Presently the dusky head
moved restlessly.

"Eb, tell me the message," whispered Betty.

"Message? What message?" asked Col. Zane. "What arc
you talking about?"

"Do not tease — not now. Tell me." There was an under
current of wistfulness in Betty's voice which touched the kind-
hearted brother.

"Well, to-day a certain young man asked me if he could
relieve me of the responsibility of looking after a certain
young lady."

«Oh "

"Wait a moment. I told him 1 would be delighted.'*

"Eb, that was unkind."

"Then he asked me to tell her he was coming over to
morrow morning to fix it up with her."

"Oh7 horrible!" cried Betty. "Were those the words he
used?"

Betty Zane 281

"Betts, to tell the honest truth, he did not say much of
anything. He just said : 'I love her,' and his eyes blazed."

Betty uttered a half articulate cry and ran to her room
Her heart was throbbing. What could she do? She felt that
if she looked once into her lover's eyes she would have no
strength. How dared she allow herself to be so weak! Yet
she knew this was the end. She could deceive him no longer.
For she felt a stir in her heart, stronger than all, beyond all
resistance, an exquisite agony, the sweet, blind, tumultuous

exultation of the woman who loves and is loved.

*********

"Bess, what do you think?" said Col. Zane, going into the
kitchen next morning, after he had returned from the pasture.
"Clarke just came over arid asked for Betty. I called her.
She came down looking as sweet and cool as one of the lilies
out by the spring. She said: 'Why, Mr. Clarke, you are
almost a stranger. I am pleased to see you. Indeed, we are
all very glad to know you have recovered from your severe
burns.' She went on talking like that for all the world like a
girl who didn't care a snap for him. And she knows as well
as I do. Not only that, she has been actually breaking her
heart over him all these months. How did she do it? Oh,
you women beat me all hollow !"

"Would you expect Betty to fall into his arms?" asked
the Colonel's worthy spouse, indignantly.

"Not exactly. But she was too cool, too friendly. Poor
Alfred looked as if he hadn't slept. He was nervous and
scared to death. When Betty ran up stairs I put a bug
in Alfred's ear. He'll be all right now, if he follows my
advice."

"Humph! What did Colonel Ebenezer Zane tell him?"
asked Bessie, in disgust.

"Oh, not much. I simply told him not to lose his nerve;
that a woman never meant 'no' ; that she often says it only
to be made say 'yes.* And I ended up with telling him if she
got a little skittish, as thoroughbreds do sometimes, to try 9
strong arm. That was my way."

"Col. Zane, if my memory does not fail me, you were as

Betty Zane

humble and beseeching as the proudest girl could desire."

"I beseeching? Never!"

"I hope Alfred's wooing may go well. I like him very
much. But I'm afraid. Betty has such a spirit that it is
quite likely she will refuse him for no other reason than that
he built his cabin before he asked her."

"Nonsense. He asked her long ago. Never fear, Bess,
my sister will come back as meek as a lamb."

Meanwhile Betty and Alfred were strolling down the fa
miliar path toward the river. The October air was fresh with
a suspicion of frost. The clear notes of a hunter's horn came
floating down from the hills. A flock of wild geese had
alighted on the marshy ground at the end of the island where
they kept up a continual honk! honk! The brown hills, the
red forest, and the yellow fields were now at the height of
their autumnal beauty. Soon the November north wind would
thrash the trees bare, and bow the proud heads of the daisies
and the goldenrod; but just now they flashed in the sun, and
swayed back and forth in all their glory.

"I see you limp. Are you not entirely well?" Betty was
saying.

"Oh, I am getting along famously, thank you," said Al
fred. "This one foot was quite severely burned and is still
tender."

"You have had your share of injuries. I heard my brother
say you had been wounded three times within a year."

"Four times."

"Jonathan told of the axe wound; then the wound Millei
gave you, and finally the burns. These make three, do they
not?"

"Yes, but you see, all three could not be compared to the
one you forgot to mention."

"Let us hurry past here," said Betty, hastening to change
the subject. "This is where you had the dreadful fight with
Miller."

"As Miller did go to meet Girty, and as he did not return
to the Fort with the renegade, we must believe he is deadt
Of course, we do not know tliis to be actually a fact. But

Betty Zane 283

•

something makes me think so. Jonathan and Wetzel have

not said anything; I can't get any satisfaction on that score
from either; but I am sure neither of them would rest until
Miller was dead."

"I think you are right. But we may never know. All I
can tell you is that Wetzel and Jack trailed Miller to the
river, and then they both came back. I was the last to see
Lewis that night before he left on Miller's trail. It isn't
likely I shall forget what Lewis said and how he looked. Mil
ler was a wicked man ; yes, a traitor."

"He was a bad man, and he nearly succeeded in every one
of his plans. I have not the slightest doubt that had he re
frained from taking part in the shooting match he would
have succeeded in abducting you, in killing me, and in leading
Girty here long before he was expected."

"There are many things that may never be explained, but
one thing Miller did always mystify us. How did he succeed
in binding Tige?"

"To my way of thinking that was not so difficult as climb
ing into my room and almost killing me, or stealing the powder
from Capt. Boggs' room."

"The last, at least, gave me a chance to help," said Betty,
with a touch of her old roguishness.

"That was the grandest thing a woman ever did,*' said
Alfred, in a low tone.

"Oh, no, I only ran fast."

"I would have given the world to have seen you, but I was
lying on the bench wishing I were dead. I did not have
strength to look out of a porthole. Oh! that horrible time!
I can never forget it. I lie awake at night and hear the yell
ing and shooting. Then I dream of running over the burning
roofs and it all comes back so vividly I can almost feel the
flames and smell the burnt wood. Then I wake up and think
of that awful moment when you were carried into the block
house white, and, as I thought, dead."

"But I wasn't. And I think it best for us to forget that
horrible siege. It is past. It is a miracle that any one was
spared. Ebenezer says we should not grieve for those who

Betty Zane

are gone; they were heroic; they saved the Fort. He saysf
too, that we shall never again be troubled by Indians. There
fore let us forget and be happy. I have forgotten Miller.
You can afford to do the same."

"Yes, I forgive him." Then, after a long silence, Alfred
continued, "Will you go down to the old sycamore ?"

Down the winding path they went. Coming to a steep
place in the rocky bank Alfred jumped down and then turned
to help Betty. But she avoided his gaze, pretended to not
see his outstretched hands, and leaped lightly down beside
him. He looked at her with perplexity and anxiety in his
eyes. Before he could speak she ran on ahead of him and
climbed down the bank to the pool. He followed slowly,
thoughtfully. The supreme moment had come. He knew it,
and somehow he did not feel the confidence the Colonel had in
spired in him. It had been easy for him to think of subduing
this imperious young lady ; but when the time came to assert
his will he found he could not remember what he had intended
to say, and his feelings were divided between his love for her
and the horrible fear that he should lose her.

When he reached the sycamore tree he found her sitting be
hind it with a cluster of yellow daisies in her lap. Alfred
gazed at her, conscious that all his hopes of happiness were
dependent on the next few words that would issue from her
smiling lips. The little brown hands, which were now
rather nervously arranging the flowers, held more than his
life.

"Are they not sweet?" asked Betty, giving him a fleeting
glance. "We call them 'black-eyed Susans.' Could anything
be lovelier than that soft, dark brown ?"

"Yes," answered Alfred, looking into her eyes.

"But — but you are not looking at my daisies at all,*' said
Betty, lowering her eyes.

"No, I am not," said Alfred. Then suddenly: "A year
ago this very day we were here."

"Here? Oh, yes, I believe I do remember. It was the day
we came in my canoe and had such fine fishing.'*

"Is that all you remember?"

'Betty Zane 285

"I can recollect nothing in particular. It was so long ago."

"I suppose you will say you had no idea why I wanted you
to come to this spot in particular."

"I supposed you simply wanted to take a walk, and it is
very pleasant here."

"Then Col. Zane did not tell you?" demanded Alfred. Re
ceiving no reply he went on.

"Did you read my letter?"

"What letter?"

"The letter old Sam should have given you last fall. Did
you read it?"

"Yes," answered Betty, faintly.

"Did your brother tell you I wanted to see you this morn-
ing?"

"Yes, he told me, and it made me very angry," said Betty,
raising her head. There was a bright red spot in each cheek.
"You — you seemed to think you — that I — well — I did not
like it."

"I think I understand ; but you are entirely wrong. I have
never thought you cared for me. My wildest dreams never
left me any confidence. Col. Zane and Wetzel both had some
deluded notion that you cared "

"But they had no right to say that or to think it," said
Betty, passionately. She sprang to her feet, scattering the
daisies over the grass. "For them to presume that I cared
for you is absurd. I never gave them any reason to think
so, for — for I — I don't."

"Very well, then, there is nothing more to be said," an
swered Alfred, in a voice that was calm and slightly cold. "J
am sorry if you have been annoyed. I have been mad, of
course, but I promise you that you need fear no further an
noyance from me. Come, I think we should return to the
house."

And he turned and walked slowly up the path. He had
taken perhaps a dozen steps when she called him.

"Mr. Clarke, come back."

Alfred retraced his steps and stood before her again. Thee
he saw a different Betty. The haughty poise had disappeared,

$86 Betty Zane

Her head was bowed. Her little hands were tightly pressed
over a throbbing bosom.

"Well," said Alfred, after a moment.

"Why — why are you in such a hurry to go?"

"I have learned what I wanted to know. And after that I
do not imagine I would be very agreeable. I am going back.
Are you coming?"

"I did not mean quite — quite what I said," whispered
Betty.

"Then what did you mean?" asked Alfred, in a stern voice.

"I don't know. Please don't speak so."

"Betty, forgive my harshness. Can you expect a man to
feel as I do and remain calm? You know I love you. You
must not trifle any longer. You must not fight any longer."

"But I can't help fighting."

"Look at me," said Alfred, taking her hands. "Let me
see your eyes. I believe you care a little for me, or else you
wouldn't have called me back. I love you. Can you under
stand that?"

"Yes, I can; and I think you should love me a great deal
to make up for what you made me suffer."

"Betty, look at me."

Slowly she raised her head and lifted the downcast eyes.

Those telltale traitors no longer hid her secret. With u glad

.
cry Alfred caught her in his arms. She tried to hide her

face, but he got his hand under her chin and held it firmly so
that the sweet crimson lips were very near his own. Then
he slowly bent his head.

Betty saw his intention, closed her eyes and whispered:
"Alfred, please don't — it's not fair — I beg of you — Oh!"
That kiss was Betty's undoing. She uttered a strange
little cry. Then her dark head found a hiding place over his
heart, and her slender form, which a moment before had re
sisted so fiercely, sank yielding into his embrace.

"Betty, do you dare tell me now that you do not care for
me?" Alfred whispered into the dusky hair which rippled
over his breast.

Betty was brave even in her surrender. Her hands moved

Betty Zane 287

slowly upward along his arms, slipped over his shoulders, and
clasped round his neck. Then she lifted a flushed and tear-
stained face with tremulous lips and wonderful shining eyes.

"Alfred, I do love you — with my whole heart I love you.
I never knew until now."

The hours flew apace. The prolonged ringing of the dinner
bell brought the lovers back to earth, and to the realization
that the world held others than themselves. Slowly they
climbed the familiar path, but this time as never before. They
walked hand in hand. From the bluff they looked back.
They wanted to make sure they were not dreaming. The
water rushed over the fall more musically than ever before;
the white patches of foam floated round and round the shady
pool ; the leaves of the sycamore rustled cheerily in the breeze.
On a dead branch a wood-pecker hammered industriously.

"Before we get out of sight of that dear old tree I want
to make a confession," said Betty, as she stood before Alfreds
She was pulling at the fringe on his hunting-coat.

"You need not make confessions to me."

"But this was dreadful ; it preys on my conscience."

"Very well, I will be your judge. Your punishment shall
be slight."

"On* day when you were lying unconscious from your
wound, Bessie sent me to watch you. I nursed you for hours^
and — and — do not think badly of me — I — I kissed you."

"My darling," cried the enraptured young man.

When they at last reached the house they found Col. Zane
on the doorstep.

"Where on earth have you been?" he said. "Wetzel was
here. He said he would not wait to see you. There he goes
up the hill. He is behind that laurel."

They looked and presently saw the tall figure of the hunter
emerge from the bushes. He stopped and leaned on his rifle.
For a minute he remained motionlecs. Then he waved his
hand and plunged into the thicket. Betty sighed and Alfred
said:

"Poor Wetzel ! ever restless, ever roaming."

"Hello, there!" exclaimed a gay voice. The lovers turned

288 Betty Zane

to see the smiling face of Isaac, and over his shoulder My-
eerah's happy face beaming on them. "Alfred, you are a
lucky dog. You can thank Myeerah and me for this ; because
if I had not taken to the river and nearly drowned myself
to give you that opportunity you would not wear that happy
face to-day. Blush away, Betts, it becomes you mightily."

"Bessie, here they are !" cried Col. Zane, in his hearty voice.
"She is tamed at last. No excuses, Alfred, in to dinner you

go."

Col. Zane pushed the young people up the steps before him,
and stopping on the threshold while he knocked the ashes from
'lis pipe, he smiled contentedly «

AFTERWORD.

BETTY lived all her after life on the scene of her f among
exploit. She became j^ happy wife anc[ mother.. When she
grew to be an old lady, with her grandchildren about her
knee, she delighted to tell them that when a gii1 =?he had
run the gauntlet of the Indians.

Col. Zane became the friend of all redmen. He maintained
a trading-post for many years, and his dealings were ever
kind and honorable. After the country got settled he re
ceived from time to time various marks of distinction
from the State, Colonial, and National governments.
His most noted achievement was completed about 1796.
President Washington, desiring to open a National road
from Fort Henry to Maysville, Kentucky, paid a great
tribute to Ccl. Zane's ability by employing him to under
take the arduous task. His brother Jonathan and the
Indian guide, Tomepomehala, rendered valuable aid in blaz
ing out the path through the wilderness. This road, famous
for many years as Zane's Trace, opened the beautiful
Ohio valley to the ambitious pioneer. For this service Con
gress granted Col. Zane the privilege of locating military
warrants upon three sections of land, each a square mile in
extent, which property the government eventually presented
to him. Col. Zane was the founder of Wheeling, Zanesville,
Martin's Ferry, and Bridgeport. He died in 1811.

Isaac Zane received from the government a patent of ten
thousand acres of land on Mad river. He established his home
in the center of this tract, where he lived with the Wyandots
until his death. A white settlement sprang up, prospered, and
grew, and today it is the thriving city of Zanesfield.

Jonathan Zane settled down after peace was declared with
the Indians, found himself a wife, and eventually became an
influential citizen. However, he never lost his love for the
wild woods. At times he would take down the old rifle and
disappear for two or three days. He always returned cheer
ful and happy from these lonely hunts.

tft

290 Betty Zatft

Wetzel alone did not take kindly to the march of civiliza
tion ; but then he was a hunter, not a pioneer. He kept his
word of peace with his old enemies, the Hurons, though he
never abandoned his wandering and vengeful quests after the
Delawares.

As the years passed Wetzel grew more silent and taciturn,
From time to time he visited Ft. Henry, and on these visits
lie spent hours playing with Betty's children. But he was
restless in the settlement, and his sojourns grew briefer and
more infrequent as time rolled on. True to his conviction
that no wife existed on earth for him, he never married. His
home was the trackless wilds, where he was true to his calling —
a foe to the redman.

Wonderful to relate his long, black hair never adorned the
walls of an Indian's lodge, where a warrior might point with
grim pride and say : "No more docs the Deathwind blow over
the hills and vales." We could tell of how his keen eye once
again saw Wingenund over the sights of his fatal rifle, and
how he was once again a prisoner in the camp of that life
long foe, but that's another story, which, perhaps, we may
tell some day.

To-day the beautiful city of Wheeling rises on the banks of
the Ohio, where the yells of the Indians once blanched the
cheeks of the pioneers. The broad, winding river rolls on as
of yore ; it alone remains unchanged. What were Indians and
pioneers, forts and cities to it? Eons of time before human
beings lived it flowed slowly toward the sea, and ages after
men and their works are dust, it will roll on placidly with its
eternal scheme of nature.

Upon the island still stand noble beeches, oaks, and chest
nuts — trees that long ago have covered up their bullet-scars,
but they could tell, had they the power to speak, many a wild
thrilling tale. Beautiful parks and stately mansions grace
the island; and polished equipages roll over the ground that
once knew naught save the soft tread of the deer and the
moccasin.

McColloch's Rock still juts boldly out over the river as
fteep and rugged as when the brave Major leaped to everlast-

B e 1 1 y Z a n c

ing fame. Wetzel's Cave, so named to this day, remains on
the side of the bluff overlooking the creek. The grapevines
and wild rose-bushes still cluster round the cavern-entrance,
where, long ago, the wily savage was wont to lie in wait for the
settler, lured there by the false turkey-call. The boys visit
the cave on Saturday afternoons and play "Injuns."

Not long since the writer spent a quiet afternoon theres
listening to the musical flow of the brook, and dreaming of
those who had lived and loved, fought and died by that strearr
one hundred and twenty years ago. The city with its lon^
blocks of buildings, its spires and bridges, faded away, leaving
the scene as it was in the days of Fort Henry — unobscureo
by smoke, the river undotted by puffing boats, and everywhere
the green and verdant forest.

Nothing was wanting in that dream picture : Betty tearing
along on her pony; the pioneer plowing in the field; the
stealthy approach of the savage ; Wetzel and Jonathan watch
ing the river ; the deer browsing with the cows in the pasture,
and the old fort, grim and menacing on the bluff — all were
there as natural as in those times which tried men's souls.

And as the writer awoke to the realities of life, that his
dreams were of long ago, he was saddened by the thought that
the labor of the pioneer is ended; his faithful, heroic wife's
work is done. That beautiful country, which their sacrifices
made ours, will ever be a monument to them.

Sad, too, is the thought that the poor Indian is unmourned
He is almost forgotten ; he is in the shadow ; his songs are
sung; no more will he sing to his dusky bride: his deeds are
done; no more will he boast of his all-conquering arm or of
his speed like the Northwind ; no more will his heart bound at
the whistle of the stag, for he sleeps in the shade of the
imder the moss and the ferns.

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THE MAN OF THK FOREST
DESERT OF WHEAT ,
U. P. TRAIL

/—WILDFIRE

BORDER LEGION] *
THE RAINBOW TRAIL
THE HERITAGE OF THK DESERT
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
THE LONE STAR RANGER
GOLD

^ BETTY ZANE

•**••••
LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS

The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody
Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.

ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS

KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
THE YOUNG LION HUNTER
THE YOUNG FORESTER
THE YOUNG PITCHER
THE SHORT STOP

THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER
BASEBALL STORIES

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S

_ STORIES OF ADVENTURE _ _

May b9 had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

THE RIVER'S END

A story of the Royal Mounted Police.
THE GOLDEN SNARE

Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland.
/XNOMADS OF THE NORTH

The story of a bear-cub and a dog.
KAZAN

The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn
between the call of the human and his wild mate.

BAREE, SON OF KAZAN

The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part
he played in the lives of a man and a woman.

THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM

The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his
battle with Captain Plum.

DANGER TRAIL

A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.
HUNTED WOMAN

A tale of a great fight in the " valley of gold " for a woman.
FLOWER OF THE NORTH

The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness
is,blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.

GRIZZLY KING

The story of Thor, the big grizzly.
ISOBEL

A love story of the Far North.
THE WOLF HUNTERS

A thrilling tale cf adventure in the Canadian wilderness.
GOLD HUNTERS

The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.
COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE

Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.
TO GOD'S COUNTRY

A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made
from this book.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

RUBY M. AYRE'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

RICHARD CHATTERTON

A fascinating story in which love and jealousy play
strange tricks with women's souls.

A BACHELOR HUSBAND

Can a woman love two men at the same time ?

In its solving of this particular variety of triangle " A
Bachelor Husband " will particularly interest, and strangely
enough, without one shock to the most conventional minded.

THE SCAR

With rine comprehension and insight the author shows a
terrific contrast between the woman whose love was of the
flesh and one whose love was of the spirit.

THE MARRIAGE OF BARRY WICKLOW

Here is a man and woman who, marrying for love, yet try
to build their wedded life upon a gospel of hate for each
other and yet win back to a greater love for each other in
the end.

THE UPHILL ROAD

The heroine of this story was a consort of thieves. The
man was fine, clean, fresh from the West. It is a story of
strength and passion.

WINDS OF THE WORLD

Jill, a poor little typist, marries the great Henry Sturgess
and inherits millions, but not happiness. Then at last — but
we must leave that to Ruby M. Ayres to tell you as only
she can.

THE SECOND HONEYMOON

In this story the author has produced a book which no
one who has loved or hopes to love can afford to miss.
The story fairly leaps from climax to climax.

THE PHANTOM LOVER

Have you not often heard of someone being in love with
love rather than the person they believed the object of their
affections ? That was Esther ! But she passes through the
crisis into a deep and profound love.'

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S
NOVELS

May ba had wharavar books are sold. Ask for Grossot & Dunlap's list

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

Tells of Tarzan' s return to the life of the ape-man in
his search for vengeance on those who took from him his
wife and home.

JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN

Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan
proves his right to ape kingship.

A PRINCESS OF MARS

Forty-three million miles from the earth — a succession
of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction.
John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars,
battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of
Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on
horses like dragons.

THE GODS OF MARS

Continuing John Carter* s adventures on the Planet Mars,
m which he does battle against the ferocious "plant men,"
creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant
death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death,
whom all Mars worships and reveres.

THE WARLORD OF MARS

Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reap
pear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a
happy ending to the story in the union of the Warlord,
the title conferred upon John Carter, with Dejah Thoris.

THUVIA, MAID OF MARS

The fourth volume of the series. The story centers
around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Car
ter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor.

GROSSET & DUNLAP. PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

ATNRLF

THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ

This book is due on the last DATE stamped below.

JUN 91071

OCT 9 '81

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